Well, I’ve been to hell and back and live to tell the tale. Fever
peaked at 102.4, total liquid diarrhea, 20+ times. It was actually more
than 20, but it got too depressing to count after 20, so I stopped
there. In between going diarrhea, I felt like I had to go, so there
was no relief. Large amounts of gas in the inflamed ileocecal valve
was incredibly painful. Up all night long. I got to watch Santa fill
the stockings, though.
Last night, I had a dream. Jasper was driving me down the big hill in
Tijuana from the clinic, and we were going faster and faster. At the
bottom of the hill, there was a red light, but he didn’t stop, and we
sped across the intersection, narrowly missing several cars. He
finally pulled to the side, shaky. I put my hand on his shoulder, and
said, “Jasper, I know you’re trying to cure me, but please don’t kill
me in the meantime.”
I woke up to Christmas.
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