The daily visits by the doctors seemed to meld together, echoing the remarks and questions of the previous day. "Any bowel movement yet?" "No." "Gas?" "A little." The questions had taken on the pure monotony of a scratched record which played the identical phrase over and over, into oblivion. How many days, I wondered, would my ears endure the repetition before the doctors were assured of the normalcy of my stomach and pancreas? I tried to close my mind to distressing thoughts; I knew nothing of my physical condition and through the doctor's restrictions, I would return to health; I had far too much confidence and hope to fly to the arms of despair, for in despair one finds no warmth or comfort. Having passed my third week in the confines of the hospital, the doctors finally concluded that the signs were such that they could risk the removal of the nose tube and allow me to slowly test my stomach's endurance and tolerance of a liquid diet. The prospect elated me, and I promised to abide by their cautious instructions. Removing the tube which issued from my stomach through my nose was no major operation; before I had enough time to be scared, the tube was out and my nose, clear. Dr. M. said that the tube would have to be analyzed for bacteria in the laboratory and, at the sight of the grisly thing, I immediately pitied the individual who would be assigned to the horrid occupation. Turning my thoughts inward, I found that, other than a soreness of the throat, I had no complaints to offer; to be free of the tube improved my appearance and heralded the commencement of food into my daily routine. The first sampling of liquid sustenance proved to be a shadow of my expectations. I was served bouillon broth and green tea, both of which hardly satisfied my stomach's desire; the broth was intolerably salty to my unused tastebuds and the tea unfamiliar. Nevertheless, I consumed a fair amount of each simply as a reminder that I was licensed to function as any other human, eating and drinking as a matter of course. Within 24 hours after my first ingestion of liquid food, I proclaimed that I felt an urge to go to the bathroom. The nurse excitedly told me not to flush the bowel movement until she had inspected the stool; it was to be a clearly monumental event! After having proudly enacted the endeavor of which the absence had, for weeks, instilled nervous qualms into the doctors' thoughts, I emerged from the bathroom; the nurse quickly surveyed the matter, simultaneously taking notes. It was as if I was a hen who had laid a golden egg, except for the humbling fact that my offering was soon flushed from view.