Death, not quite

I nearly died once. Its true, I really nearly died.

I suppose we all nearly die every time a car passes - one slip and.... But me, I came closer than this.

Taken ill, my condition withered. Within half an hour I shed my load of liquid, from every pore, orifice and gland. On the toilet, water haemorrhaged from my arse like a miscarriage. Glistening, my skin expelled wetness. Revolting, my stomach discharged puky slime. Crying, my eyes squeezed crocodile tears. As grape to raisin, I will be dry!

Like a disgraced sex offender, a draped blanket averted the sun's burning stare during the short steps from home to car.

The off duty doctor was up the stairs. I could not climb; he refused to descend. Impasse, empate. Wife and colleague carried me up.

In the waiting room I was tipped off my wheelchair onto a bed. By now quite dry. My heart struggled with porridgy blood. Could a heart pump powder? I wandered.

"The doctor will be here in half an hour."

Turning to wife and colleague, I uttered (what I truly believed to be) my last words.

"I have not got half an hour, I would give my self around twenty minutes."

That was it, cold quotidian calculation, the banal truth. No last wish, just a valedictory flexing of the synapses. My companions left. Glancing round I saw women squatting on the floor eating, I smelt their stew spiced with hospital antiseptic. Outside the tropical sun emanated that magnifying 4pm light. End of another day, end of my life.

Panic? Despair? Pain? All long gone. I was ready to go too. Eyes resting closed, I heard my parent's voices - "Paradox is alright." I saw my young parents smiling down at me in the cot. Mother's golden hair and father's ginger beard. A recording archived for decades now played again. It’s true; they looked so unfamiliar it took me a while to realise who they were.

I knew I was dying - dead even, and it was ok.

An angel with a plastic bottle touched my arm. Immobile and inert, I observed with detachment the periodic administering of bottle top to lips.

I awoke at dawn to see a white butterfly on the ceiling. Outside Macuas made their way to work, in Lowry like droves. So normal. Just another day.

Later, back home, they told me how I very nearly died from malaria and dehydration. It took a whole 1.5 litre bottle of mineral water, administered drop-by-drop to my lips, before I even moved. It took another before I spoke. Apparently, I didn't even swallow the first - the water was like raindrops on dry sand.

I told you I nearly died. My wife's presence of mind saved my life.