July 16th, 1947
Where do I begin to describe the horrors of the past week?
It started with a genteel gesture of a steaming pot of curry, and ended with me begging for mercy and perhaps even death for over a week.
I cannot remember the last time I was ever so sick. In fact, perhaps I never have been. Sniffles, fevers, and the occasional intestinal upset are lost in my memory when growing up. As an adult, I can of course attest to waking up after a bender of drinking and losing the contest of my stomach, but this was unholy.
Perhaps this was why my beloved did not partake of the curry? He could have warned me. He swears he did not know it was going to make me ill, only that he did not particularly like the smell. I thought it smelled delicious and ate several heaping helpings. That was a mistake.
It wasn't until just before sunrise that I felt the stirrings in my stomach. At first it was gurgling, then a pain, and then I broke out in a cold sweat. Eventually I came tumbling out of our shared bed and rushed to our small bathroom area. The next few hours are a blur of vomiting and other things that I shall not mention.
It went on for days.
I was unable to keep anything I ate down. I would feel fine for a while, and then after I ate a sudden rush of fever would overtake me and back to the bathroom I went. It was an absolutely miserable experience.
I had to stop doing usual rounds and Cyrus ended up making excuses for me. I truly feel terrible for being so behind in work, and basically the very life that he and I have built. It might not be much, but it is ours and I want to conduct it to the best of my ability.
Through it all, I can say that Cyrus stood by my side. At night the fever would take me and I would awaken shaking, nauseous and confused. He would be sitting up in bed lightly tapping a cloth to my forehead and whispering sweet words. He would ask if I needed anything, kiss my brow and tell me he loved me. Though at the time I was irritable and barely able to understand my surroundings, let alone appreciate things, now that I am somewhat better I am warmed inside by the actions.
I still do not feel great, but I suppose I am 'better.' Slowly I am able to eat food, and not feel like death is clawing at my insides. There is still a nagging headache behind my eyes and nothing is particularly appetizing despite me feeling constantly ravenous. It shall just take time. As a doctor, I know this. I need plenty of fluids, plenty of rest, and time.
I will try to write again soon, Journal. For now I am going to lie down and ask my Cyrus to hold me for a little while.