"Hi doc. How've you been..." June seemed to think that this didn't need to be much of a question, the pleasantries a bit beyond her at this point in life.
"I'm well. But let's talk about you... How have you been since last week? I trust that the paperwork arrived recently?" He sat on his annoyingly swiveling chair. To her, this chair was one of the factors in why she was here. To her docs, this was considered cognitive disassociation.
"Yea, of course. Nothing like email to let someone know they're dying." She quipped, smirking darkly to herself.
"We never concluded that, Juniper."
"Don't call me that. Mom called me that."
"I'm sorry, June. Can we talk about what the tests suggest?"
"Sure. Tell me what I don't know, though."
He began, pointing to graphs which were held close to her face.
"We can point out where the degeneration began, just localized to the cerebellum. Your occipital lobe was injured at some point it seems, and is taking the brunt of the disease."
"So that means I'm going blind. You know... Had you told me that a few years ago, I wouldn't have even gotten glasses." Another dark smile sent a ripple of wrinkles along her features.
"June, don't be so snide, really. We're only here to help you in this... transitional situation. Now. My associates and I predict that this will have one of two outcomes."
"I'll either die now or die later." She interjects, leaning back against the paper-wrapped pillow behind her.
"Well, we all die, June. Sooner or later. But we've discovered that there will be indicators, some which you are experiencing now-- but some which may not reveal themselves for years, even decades!"
She decided to humor him, fiddling the thick glasses in her spindly fingers. "Go on, doc."
"Well, you see, first we have experienced the degeneration in the eyes, legs, and visual synapses, which explains your lack of images in dreams, or their distorted nature."
She was repulsed that he would say 'we', as if he too were haunted by images with no meaning, or that he endured the pain of brightness where there was no light.
"Now, in the future..."
As if there were a future,
"...we will begin to experience nerve degeneration of a different sort. Your fingertips, toes, face, groin... and stuff of that nature, will lose feeling."
"Is that so," her blueish nails dragged along the papery film of the bedding, watching for him to squirm as many oft did in the presence of such a sound.
"And, as far off as that is, there will be more. Your taste buds will decrease, your sense of smell will cease in turn, and your axillary functions will slow to a stop: that is to say that your hair, nails, and skin will begin to weaken or fall out until they stop regenerating."
"That's when I join the Little Miss Sunshine pageant, right?"
"Well, maybe ten years ago... I suppose there are some pageants that you could join for young adults, though."
She detested when he took her sarcasm seriously.
"Now, as with previous cases, the few final stages of this disease are noted by several changes: memory loss, frequent disorientation, and reclusive behavior." He began to suspect that she wasn't listening-- but his oath drove him to offer this information to the best of his ability, however reluctant this young woman was. To him, she was already dead-- waiting for the toe-tag as she reclined before him in a slumping husk of skeletal remains.
"Do you understand what I mean, June?"
"Of course, Doc. I also understand that I need to sign some forms?"
"Of course... Here. If you choose to begin medicating, contact our offices and we will square you away."
"Of course."
Her friends had talked her into taking the meds. She took them, sure-- took them home. Her friends medicated while she allowed the symptoms to creep up lazily.
For months, she was baby-sitter, she was nanny, and she was watcher over the multiple friends coming to her home to trip and veg out on downers and medicinal marijuana.
For weeks, she was ignoring the symptoms. Some of her friends stopped coming.
"Where's Kona been, Lucy?" she would ask, passing a joint that she didn't smoke.
"Oh... Man, you know how she is. Been busy with finding a job and shit. But like, how's your cat, R2?"
"You know he ran away..." June stood to leave for the kitchen, where she vomited in the sink.
For days she was under the impression that she was getting better. Even if her nails were egg-shell thin and her hair was at home in the boar-bristle brush that she used for years. But by then, she didn't see any of her friends anymore. It began to get so lonely that she would pretend to take the medicine, just so that when she looked out the window, she could blame the side-effects of hallucinations as to why the sky was melting darkness.
As she woke up one day, stretching and yawning for nearly an hour, her eyes would not respond to typical commands. A voice was lost to deaf ears. She could barely even feel herself speak. There seemed to be such minute vibrations that it took a yell to perceive. Neighbors and passers by would flinch to the sounds coming from her box of an apartment.
The day lasted a long while. Fear kept her from traveling far from bed. For a few hours she sat on the floor, breaking her now useless glasses.
With an uncertain amount of strength, she headed toward the bathroom-- a wave of light rushing over her lacking vision, stopping her in her tracks.
John... I feel it.
A command somewhere in her brain forced her to shout at the suddenly audible neighbors. The only thing she could hear, and it was some lovey-dovey bullshit from one person to another.
Do you want to know?
A long silence startled June, her head hanging over the crusty sink-top.
What are you so worried about? You'll be great...
She could even hear the disgusting kisses from these two lovers. At home over her sink, she shouted again and again, between purges of bile.
You can do this. I love you so much.
With a lack of feeling in her legs, she collapsed to the ground by the sink, trembling. Realization of the situation dawned upon her. She wasn't hearing neighbors-- she was deafened with malign synapses. She was hallucinating. Denial couldn't persevere any longer.
I'm afraid John!
Fear wrecked her, a rocking mass of flesh and bone and nothing else. Nothing held her here. No one held her.
A panic attack rose from her gut, where no more could be upthrust, her diaphragm seized and halted, choking.
She must have fallen and bashed her weak head against the toilet, because there was a warm, engulfing fluid falling over her starting at her crown.
She had to stand up, and get someone.
Push for me.
She stood up, and was assaulted by a kaleidoscope of images. None which made sense. All of which frightened her to the point of falling again. Without landing, her descent into madness was ever long.
PUSH!
Heavy breathing somewhere in the distance. The blurry vision remained, but didn't clear. She wasn't sure where she was.
Anise! My Anise. My star...
Memory loss occurred. Her senses were haywire and spastic, but with her. Hypersensitivity, emotional insecurity, chills, and severe disorientation took over. For a solitary second, her senses came to her enough to realize that she was looking down upon a woman giving birth. As all of the reality of the universe convalesced inward upon her, she witnessed the rebirth of herself. A miniscule thought overcame her:
"I wish that someone had told me what to expect."
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