I hear the clock ticking. My eyes are like lead weights. Red rimmed with exhaustion they blend into my red cheeks. The rash itches. I stare in the mirror and see the wolf. He is here today. My body is battling so hard. My head swims. The pain pounds behind my right eye. My vision is distorted. Thinking hurts. I hear the clock ticking.

The news is playing. A report about male fertility…a clock ticks.  A report about the Stanley Cup…a clock ticks. The last day of classes…a clock ticks. But not my clock. I hear a clock ticking.

My neck and back burns. I feel the invisible blade as it weaves its way between my ribs. It hurts to move air. My heart pounds. My legs are weak. Emptying the dishwasher results in a fine patina of sweat on my brow. I am angry. I hear a clock ticking.

I crawl back to bed. My warrior body exhausted from taking a shower. Sleep easily overtakes me. I awaken my cat curled against me. Her warmth soothes my pelvis. I stare into the dim afternoon night. I hear my clock ticking. My body fights, its spears are drawn. I want to smash the clock into smithereens. I am angry.

Nausea greets me. I can taste my morning pills. I swallow three more pills. Two for nausea and one for pain. The inhaler takes away some of the fear. My husband checks on me wanting to “DO” something. There is nothing to be done. I smile a fake reassuring smile. He hears a clock ticking.

I curl into a ball. Gently I rock to soothe myself. Confronting mortality is too much now. Just like the small child. Today I am her. The lost little girl. I cry and rock. My head pounds. My thoughts jumble. I fall asleep yet again. I hear the clock ticking.

I wake and run to the bathroom. Well crawl. The lupus is kicking hard. My warrior body is alive and fighting. My nerves are electricity. My emotions are  raw. I am angry. I am sad. I breathe the thick air and it is unfriendly. I fall into another sleep. I hear the clock ticking.

Evening comes and I force in some food. “You have to eat” my two oldest children cajole. A warm grilled cheese and a vanilla milkshake soothes the burn in my gut. I wish it would salve the ache. I am brittle. I need. I need to be selfish. I want so much more. The clock that is ticking is mine.