Friday, February 8, 2019

Surviving Dryness

Summer 2018

I have only recently experienced, on any consistent basis, complete physical hydration.  
Not only have I been consistently taking in less water than my body requires (for years), 
I have essentially denied the possibility that something as simple and obvious as drinking enough
fluid might alleviate a number of physical and mental symptoms I have been willing to brush off 
as collateral, age-related damage.  I have been operationally and conceptually clueless with all of 
the evidence and medical opinion staring me full in the face. The depth of my blinded dysfunctionality 
may take a while for you to fully appreciate. I feel completely poleaxed, but otherwise thrilled.

I can only describe how this feels using explicitly religious, supra-luminal imagery.  It feels miraculous, 
entire universes of unsuspected possibility unfurl before me. Which gives you a feel for the craziness 
lurking just out of sight.     

In retrospect, the exquisitely sensitive, completely automatic systems controlling water balance in 
my body started malfunctioning a decade ago. I have probably drifted along a liter or two short 
ever since.

Dehydration can be the perfect, slippery green sinkhole that swallows up your particular life. 
It is completely self-blinding; mental acuity goes first when hydration falls. Dehydration in the 
elderly is a matter of subtlety, of varying degree, of perception, opinion, mood, judgement; 
not an agreed-upon concretion from the peer-reviewed, double blind tested, evidence-based 
medicine world. I have talked over my more dramatic close calls with very competent, caring 
doctors for a long time and no effective prescriptions have been forthcoming. "Stay hydrated." 
How would I know what that means? Over the years I learned what I feel like just before I pass out, 
never what it feels like to be fully hydrated. Not until very recently.

Chronic dehydration masquerades as many of the age-related mileposts we come to accept 
during our return to dust. It's all there in my case: crankiness, constipation, mental lapse of every 
flavor, flash rages, loud talking, ADD, depression, bizarre incompetence, dry mouth, scratchy eyes, 
dizziness, whiteouts. Plenty enough to recognize if a miracle drops.

If escape was obvious or easy, if we could consciously re-achieve homoeostasis when the original 
systems wear out, perhaps I would have, given enough time. But no, not that.

One ordinary day for no special reason not long ago God decides to call my bluff, drops a scale 
from my eye, gives me a clue, and utterly demolishes every excuse. And the tears will not stop 
flowing, all that wetness in such dry places, tears of gratitude, of humiliation, of joy, of sheer 
nakedness, of promise where there are no promises, of time when time has run out.