Today is exactly 77 months since the day I took ill.
I have been seeing doctors regularly - some would say frequently - since tax day 2002 in the hope that they might be able to diagnose me. To date, they have discovered a dozen or so serious conditions, none of which is in any way related to what I have complained of.
This year I endured about $17,000 in diagnostic tests. I live half my life attached to a machine to help me breathe, take a half-dozen prescription drugs and get twice the rest of the average American.
It is an indictment of 21st century medication that I remain undiagnosed and am sicker today than when it all started.