Some mornings, I couldn’t remember what I had eaten the night before.
David insisted that I see specialists.
He accompanied me to appointments, answered questions, and organized my medications.
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He even began preparing my meals.
“You’re working too hard,” he told me one evening. “Let me take care of you for once.”
I had smiled.
I had thanked him.
And I had eaten the food he placed before me.
The first doctor suspected an autoimmune disorder.
Another suggested a rare degenerative neurological condition.
A third recommended experimental treatment.
None of them could explain why my symptoms were progressing so rapidly.
Then, one afternoon, a former colleague visited.
Dr. Miriam Chen had worked with me on a research project years earlier. She was now a respected clinical toxicologist.
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She noticed something in my medical history that the other doctors had overlooked.
The timing of my symptoms.
The unusual combination of neurological problems and digestive disturbances.
