Author’s note: This is a recollection of my events from a year ago. There is no need to panic.
It is moving day and I have no choice but to go into the office. I have already called in sick twice this week and would feel extremely guilty if I call in a third day. But this is the last day we are in this office before we move down to Knox Henderson.
Something is very wrong with me. I have been vomiting on average of about once per month. I feel fatigue and nausea all the time. When I was in New York City a couple of months earlier I visited some friends that lived there. They were dismayed that I wanted nothing to eat or drink for dinner. I simply had no appetite and the thought of eating is unappealing. But I don’t like the way my stools look and I suspect that I might have pancreatitis.
But we have to move out of our old office on Forest Lane then wait a couple of weeks before our new office opens. I am late to work regardless. I show up at 11:00, grabbing a prepackaged snack of crackers, turkey, cheese and grapes from Tom Thumb on the way. I slowly force myself to eat them.
The RD asks how I feel and I tell him. He seems sympathetic. I still very slowly and gingerly pack up all the stuff from my cubicle.
Kelly has been nagging me to go to the doctor. I promise her that if I feel this bad by tomorrow I will actually do it. I am unaware that I would spend ten days out of the next two weeks in the hospital.
