Part 2

Something had moved into the office. Even the bright
California sunshine which had been streaming through the
window seemed to turn gray. It was an invisible presence,
dark and evil, which seemed to settle upon me. I dropped
the tweezers.
“Mary, mother of God, what’s wrong?”
Little did I know it was the beginning of seventeen
years of hell on Earth. Seventeen years of dying.
Seventeen years of agonizing pain, dismal loneliness, and
unspeakable depression. At forty years of age, I had
begun to die.
A year passed. Then two. I had been to half a dozen
doctors in the Bay Area. One doctor said I had hepatitis.
He put me to bed and treated me for inflammation of the
liver. Another said I suffered from spasms of the
esophagus. I was given more treatment, accompanied by
three weeks in the hospital. A third doctor recommended
gallbladder surgery, which I had. Then there were
problems with bladder and bowel control. More surgery.
Also unsuccessful.
Angelo, I call him“Ang” for short, was a supervisor at
the Alameda Naval Air Base. Few men ever loved a
woman like Ang loved me, which only increased the
intensity of his frustration. Every few weeks he would
come home and say, “I heard about a new doctor. Let’s try
him. Maybe he can help.” We kept looking and hoping.
One doctor prescribed glasses for my double vision.
Another said the numbness in my hands was caused by poor circulation. Yet my condition only grew worse