I think I was about six. I slept funny, face down with my arm bent across my chest. When I woke up my arm was dead.
IT WAS DEAD AND WOULD NOT MOVE AND IT WAS HORRIFYING.
I couldn't make a fist. I couldn't feel anything. My arm had turned into this silly, floppy flesh stick. I started screaming high pitched panic screams. My mom came running into my room.
My mom: WHAT'S WRONG? WHAT HAPPENED?
Me: MY ARM IS DEAD! IT'S DEAD DEAD DEAD!
And then I flung my arm around, trying to get it to respond. It wasn't working anymore. I would have to live the rest of my life with a dead arm. I thought it might need to be chopped off.
My mom grabbed me and started rubbing my arm and then I got another weird sensation.
Me: IT'S BURNING! IT'S BURNING!
I thrashed my small self around some more, making frantic herky jerky motions and repeating myself until I noticed I could wiggle my fingers. My mom said it was just asleep. I thought that was ridiculous. Usually all of me woke up at the same time.
I tried sleeping funny on purpose after that but it never happened again.
No comments:
Post a Comment