Night Terrors

Sleeping was always something I did well. I fell asleep quickly and slept soundly. My family would tell you that when I was younger, it was very difficult to wake me. But those days, those carefree days, are behind me. Although I usually have little trouble falling asleep, I cannot stay asleep and often find myself staring into the darkness at three or four a.m. I lie there and do battle with my fears. It's as though I'm a sentry whose duty it is to keep bad thoughts from entering my head. If perchance one slips in, it must be sent off quickly before it can capture my attention. 

Sometimes, I'm not quick enough. Sometimes, I'm too tired. Or too weak. Things get ugly then. Suddenly, my thoughts are turned against me and I'm rendered powerless to counter them. Images come to mind of the end times, of a wasted Dale, propped up in a chair, gasping for breath, too weak even to shed another tear. Colleen weeps for me again, her beautiful face contorted in grief, cheeks scalded, fists balled in helpless anguish as my breaths come short and shallow. Who will help me then? Who will comfort my Colleen? It's a horrible spectre. And my sleeping time is at an end for the night. Sometimes I pray. Sometimes it helps.

Pulmonary Fibrosis is a degenerative disease. Progressive. Each day, the scarring takes a little more of my lungs. I don't know if it'll move quickly or slowly. Or how quickly. Or how slowly. My research indicates a 3 - 5 year Life span after diagnosis. I recall all the illnesses and injuries I've ever had when I waited impatiently to get better. This time though, I wait for things to get worse. A cough will come to visit one day, a dry, hacking cough. And it will be a permanent, and unwelcome guest. Will I annoy Colleen and Ivy? Will it keep them from sleeping? My arms and legs tire more easily now. Will my arms one day be too weak to hug my girls? I don't necessarily feel short of breath, but I'm aware of a rapid heartbeat after mild exercise. I'm still able to work, though. My quality of Life is still very good.

Should I take my pension?
Should I tell my friends?
My family?
My kids?
When?
How?

Maybe my condition has stalled and will remain unchanged for years to come. Maybe I'll be the guy who defies the odds. Or maybe this whole thing is a bad dream and when I wake and tell Colleen, we'll both laugh at its absurdity.

* I love you, Colleen. That part, at least, will never change.