The human body is a mysterious collection of cells. None of us knows exactly how everything ties together. Our bodies can betray us when we least expect them to do so. We can be exercising regularly, eating healthy, and not ingesting toxic chemicals in the name of fun, yet one day we are at the gym and drop dead of a heart attack. Maybe we are having sex and suffer a stroke. Maybe our cells just wage war on themselves and we call it cancer. Whatever happens to us, we are destined to be betrayed by our own flesh. I know this beyond a shadow of a doubt. My body wants to kill me.
Anyone who reads this and has watched the "Evil Dead" movies will probably think I have a delusion of being Bruce Campbell. Well let me tell you, no evil beings are possessing me; no demons are trying to make my life into a movie. My situation is simply my body hates me.
For many years I had an agreement with my body, I would try not to do harmful things to it and it would in turn continue to quietly do as my brain asked it to do. My brain hasn't joined the revolution yet, and I fear the day it does. For now though, I'll start at the beginning.
It all started with my left hand.
