Tuesday

8 A.M.
This is the question that I hope solitude will help me to answer , but its complications and side-issues are so many that I feel dazed by their number and their difficulty . I went to sleep last night echoing the old negro 's prayer : `` Thou knowest what 's about right , Lord . Now do it ! '' * * * * * Tuesday 8 A.M. -- Nurse gives me an alcohol bath . 8.30 -- She takes my pulse and temperature and enters them in the Bedside Record Book , afterwards reading me my diet-list . It seems I do not belong to the favored class , which , to be cured , is stuffed with pleasant things to eat ; my symptoms demand a simple , unexciting bill of fare . 9 o'clock -- Breakfast .