Wednesday: 

After a quick morning hike with Eric, I embarked on my commute to campus, shivering out of fear. Just before I pulled out of the driveway, Eric said to me, “Remember: You’re the expert.”

“Yeah, ok.” I replied, shaking my head. 

Logically, I knew that Eric was right. After all, who else has personally experienced the effects of bacteriophage therapy? Well… lots of people. But not a lot of Americans have done it since the discovery of Penicillin in 1928. Even fewer Americans have lived to tell the tale, because most of them got access to bacteriophage therapy far too late. 

I was one of the few Americans who was able to get it well before my lungs gave out on me. 

Still, I was anything but the expert. And I was certain I’d fuck up my little presentation in one way or another, embarrassing myself in front of the entire class. 

Once I arrived to campus and parked my Xterra in the parking garage, I was already near to tears. I took a moment to get my shit together and pray. 

“Lord…” I sighed, “I’m gonna need your help when I do this presentation. I can’t do it alone.”

Finally, I took a dose of Propranolol with an entire bottle of water, wiped away the sweat and tears off my face with a tissue I had in my pocket, and headed to the lecture hall. All while doing my best to feign as much confidence as possible. I had 15 minutes till class started. 

I. Was. Terrified.