July 24. 4:50 a.m. For the umpteenth time, Sandy extracted blood. For the exponential tum Angel took my temperature and checked my blood pressure. The doctors earliest determined my ailment is not Crohn’s disease…at least not this expression of sickness. They decided, instead, it is pancreatitis. Whatever it is, the pain is remarkably similar to Crohn’s. Not that it matters. Who go gives a damn? It demands lifestyle changes. It requires a different approach to food and fun. Else I die in the throes of gluttony. I sometimes wonder what is worse…spending days in the hospital or days and nights in culinary bliss. Life can be a bitch. A raging beast whose choices are ugoly and unpleasant.
This morning begins my second day in the hospital. When can I go home? When, indeed?