I was ill from October 1, 2005, until January 31, 2006. It's been difficult because several doctors have not been able to identify what caused the illness.
It was frustrating; when people called to wish me a speedy recovery, I couldn't tell them precisely what was wrong. It wasn't a widely understood malady like the flu. It wasn't something easy like gout. Everybody has an Uncle Herb who had the gout. I'm sure that some people, remembering that I'm 63 years of age and pleasingly plump, said, "Old Mañana Man musta had the big one. All that cheesecake and those hot fudge sundaes led to a heart attack."
Others probably thought I had something cigarette-related. No, no, you dummies. You have forgotten that I quit smoking more than 390 days ago.
The doctors call my disease hypersensitive cutaneous vasculitis.
I call it the creeping crud.
The doctors say the cause wasn't diabetes or cigarettes, but rather some allergic reaction to a mystery villain. I won't describe the manifestation of the disease except to say it was confined to my feet and ankles—and HURT LIKE HELL.
Prescriptions Pay Off
It was so bad that I discovered the pain management pleasures of narcotics like Dilaudid and Oxycodone. These are highly controlled substances and sell for mucho dinero in North Philadelphia if you don't have a prescription. Fortunately, I had the prescriptions and a good prescription plan, and I have weaned myself as the pain abated.
I was in the hospital twice for a total of eight days. When I wasn't in the hospital, I was confined to my home office wearing knee-high bandaging called Unaboots and receiving five intravenous infusions of antibiotics daily.
All of this recovery time had a bright side. It forced me to think. That's dangerous. Sometimes it would hurt my temples so I would take a nap. Other times I would make a few notes.
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