It has come to my attention that many have been taken aback by my illness, which in its severity has left me weak and unresponsive to most telephone messages, emails, and general callings upon. For this I have little recourse but to offer the following story as where I’ve been for nearly three weeks.

I was struck suddenly by illness at the end of September. It was be no means expected; while I had been feeling run down and tired, this was nothing unusual given the long working hours and the constant running around. This of course does not lessen the fact that I did become ill shortly thereafter, for whatever reason or causality.

The illness stuck with harse symptoms that left me in a state I have never been in before. The symptoms, which are too numerous to list here, led many to believe I had a case of meningitis. The most severe, a high grade fever which left me in a somewhat altered state, required immediate medical attention. This led to a short stay in a hospital, where I looked like I had become a pin cushion.

I was given a pain killer, morphine, before the procedures were to be run. Little did I know it would have me crashing soon after. Machines panicked as my heart rate fell, my breathing slowing to a near stop. My heart felt as if it had stopped; it had slowed to a rate that apparently was not normal. Breathing became labored, I simply couldn’t bring air into my body. Things started to fade in and out. Later I found out that this was all not normal, that you’re not supposed to almost seize to be when morphine is given. It’s supposed to relax you, not kill you. Morphine and I apparently do not belong together.

After averting the death scare, the battery of tests they ran including a spinal tap, some blood work and all the rest, had shown that it wasn’t meningitis but rather a virus of unknown origin. There was nothing they could do but treat the symptoms.

The symptoms of course only got worse, and no matter of pills, fluids, or anything else would help. The spinal tap had left me with worse headaches then I had before, but was required and I do not regret having the procedure done. the fever would come and go, and nearly lead to another stay in the hospital. My vision had become impaired and was quite blurry. Walking had become difficult and I could not sit up; I lay sprawled out like a dog on a hot summer day.

Time passed and I didn’t care. I could not function and I could not think. Food lost all appeal. When I thought I was getting better, I would relapse into pain and into symptoms that would leave me with no recourse but to ride it out. The pills were of little use.

Which leads us to nearly three weeks later and these very words. I’m better then I was but not even close to 100%. I fight to keep my energy up, but it comes and goes without warning. Needless to say, while I am on the road to recovery I still have a lot of things to transverse before I can make my claim to be fit and well once more.

Note: Most people would attribute the subject of this posting to Mark Twain; however, it is only derived from Twain. Twain actaully stated in a note in May 1897 that “the report of my illness grew out of his illness, the report of my death was an exaggeration.” Just a little known fact.