My conscience tells me that I should have written long ago, and given grateful acknowledgment for what Christian Science has done for me.
For six years I was a great sufferer, trying one physician after another. I was obliged to have a nurse much of the time, if only to sit in the room to watch me, as I was not always accountable for what I did. For two years I could not see my friends until an opiate was first administered.
I had grown very sceptical regarding God as being anything more than a power to be dreaded, and I was wofully afraid of dying. The Bible was a closed book, because my church friends told me that I must reconcile myself to suffering, as it was God's will. In all this time the doctors had failed to locate my trouble, and I continued to grow worse. A consultation was held by several specialists, and it was decided that an operation might give relief; but whether it would be successful could not be determined. I must take that risk. I was given a month to decide, and in that time build up my forlorn body on meat-juice and wine; also talk with my pious friends to learn a little of the hereafter, that I might be more willing to die in case the knife failed in its work.
