About ten years ago I had a severe attack of fever, known as malarial or breakbone fever, which was contracted in Northern Louisiana, while traveling in that section. I never fully recovered from this sickness. My stomach was so affected by the drugs I used that I suffered from indigestion almost constantly. There began to appear at this time the first indications of consumption, a disease which my friends and family had been looking forward to on account of my family history, my father having died of it when I was six years old.
I began to suffer with affections of the eyes, and after some time spent in expensive and painful experiments I was fitted with glasses, which the expert ruled I must wear all the days of my life. For nine years I wore these glasses constantly. I could not do without them and was compelled to have them renewed or altered from time to time, as my eyes seemed to grow weaker.
There also developed symptoms of what came to be known as incurable catarrh, and for more than seven years I fought, with all methods and drugs known, against this disease. Nervousness, loss of appetite, and restless nights were my daily and nightly expectations and experiences.
