Indigestion. Constipation. Body ache. Fever?
Breko wakes up with all of these dancing through the body. The fan is off and a thick cotton sheet covers everything below the chin. Sweat trickles down the back. A mosquito buzzes around the ear
A hand slowly drags the sheet off that takes the sweat with it. A leg is swung over the side of the bed, then another. The rest of the body follows and now, Breko is sitting.
Did i eat too much last night? I did eat too late, for sure.
The brain is processing. The body is speaking.
A cup of strong black coffee brings about the first round of emergency evacuation. Diarrhea. Discomfort persists, but this feels lighter. The tum-tum seems to have deflated a little — yay!
Morning stuff done, and so is a second cup of coffee. This one reaches spots the first one may not have. Run, download, more diarrhea.
This feels better in the tum-tum and the bum-bum. Phew! The limbs and the bones though are protesting louder than before.
First, Breko has a litre of water before rustling up some food. Waits over the gas. Gets lost in thoughts. Is brought into the present by the arrival of cloud number three. Lowers the flame. Runs to the toi-toi. Lowers the pants. Let’s rip.
Thank you, elastic.
Today seems a day to survive. So, Breko survives. With a closed door and minimal human contact.
Night is the time to help the old human, who cannot walk, to change clothes and diapers. Breko slowly does so and lets the oldest one know this.
Will you please let me do this? You can do the rest if you wish.
At this moment, the oldest one decides, You have insulted me. I will finish you off.
First come the fists. Breko’s hands fly out to stop what’s coming. A reach advantage is a blessing.
Thank you for the height.
Anger turns into rage. Fists open to search for a weapon. The brain and the body join in. There is a moment of calm to prepare.
The fists return holding a metal gripper used for vessels. There is no time for slowness, for body aches, for anything.
Hands swing. The gripper grazes Breko’s nose before the wrists helping to hold it are caught and held. Down. Firmly. For ten whole minutes.
An attempt at biting follows but the angle is not conducive to anything more than a few nips. Vile curses are spat. Breko just holds the wrists.
The mania settles when age says, Hello, and exhaustion sets in. Some chemicals have shifted in the brain. The metal gripper is, by now, under the bed. Out of reach. The oldest one stumbles out, muttering threats.
Breko finishes with the clothes and the diapers. This is not the first time such an illness has tried to inform Breko. It has happened before, just not with this intensity. If there is a next time, there will be more experience to act from.
No indigestion. No constipation. No diarrhea. No body ache. Just calm.
Today has been a day to survive.