Twice in the last eight days, I have come down with a combined attack of nausea and diarrhea complicated by a lack of adrenaline to fight them. Both times, I wound up lying on my back in bed while my intestines attempted to turn my body into a Niagara of something browner and more disgusting than Lake Ontario.

I felt almost too weak to make the occasional dash to the bathroom, and for a while, I had the chills.

There was no fever, however, and there was a very clear solution. I took 60 mg of Hydrocortisone and waited several hours for it all to go away. By 4 PM, I was up and about and even able to eat some crackers and plums.

The good thing about my lack of a pituitary gland in these situations is that the solution is increased Hydrocortisone or Prednisone. The illness departs in a few hours and leaves no trace behind.

Except, one of these days I will be alone and too sick to take the steroids, and I will slowly, peacefully, glide out of this life. It’s not a bad death as deaths go, but it is just as final as any other.

Sorry I had to leave you with this image, but it is an aspect of my life that I cannot ignore. Thanks to Martine’s kind nursing, I’m still kicking.