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.

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