flatline, life support machine, death, dying, ill

Adventures in insomnia: What does this pain mean?

Brain: It’s probably just a bruise.

Me: (waking up) Whaaa?

Brain: That pain in your toe.

Me: Can we not? I was dreaming about Tom Hardy blowing soot in my face.

Brain: Look, I don’t want to be – no, doesn’t matter.

Me: What?

Brain: Nothing, forget I said anything.

Me: No, go on.

Brain: You don’t think it could be….(whispers) something worse?

Me: I kicked a ball. That’s all. It’s nothing.

Brain: We don’t know anything at this stage.

Me: This is ridiculous, I’m going back to sleep.

Brain: Bob Marley kicked a football and it gave him cancer.

Me: It did not give him cancer, the cancer was already there.

Brain: So what you’re saying is, kicking the football alerted him to the cancer.

Me: Yes.

Brain: Because it made his toe painful.

Me: Yes.


Me: Oh.

Brain: They’ll probably have to amputate. You might lose a foot.

Me: Oh, COME ON.

Brain: It’s probably better if they take your whole leg, actually. Safer.

Me: Omg.

Brain: They could just chop you in half and save your torso. At least you’ll still be able to do your hair and makeup.

Me: Wait, I –

Brain: Unless it’s already too late…

Me: Too late?

Brain: I’d go for a Viking burial.

Me: How did we –

Brain: You could be on a boat and someone (really handsome) could fire a flaming arrow into it.

Me: I want singing too.

Brain: Maybe a Welsh choir or a solitary chorister…

Me: (tearful)

Brain: Everyone clutching each other’s hands, crying.

Me: Telling stories about me…

Brain: …..The flaming boat with your body on board getting stuck in the reeds as your husband starts eyeing up your sister in her hot black bodycon dress.

Me: Hang on, she doesn’t wear things like that.

Brain: She lost a lot of weight. Because of the stress of you dying.

Me: I don’t believe this.

Brain: It’s probably just a bruise. Yeah, right.

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