Cold sweats, shakes, delusions, and diarrhea. I'd surpassed the “I'm so sick I should see a doctor regardless of the copay” phase and was now in the “here's my computer password; call my mom if I die” phase. I’d lost seven pounds through running to the bathroom to clear my colon. On day fourteen of what I was sure was a modern strain of the Black Death (Dramatic. I know!) when my internship boss called. Apparently, she thought my two weeks’ notice was contingent on me finding a replacement. It wasn’t. After eight months of unpaid laboring, I decided to move on. Finding a replacement was my parting gift. It wasn’t my fault, nor my problem, that Rebecca the unreliable Canadian was, well, unreliable. Short of breath and borderline delirious, I explained that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t help because I was seriously unwell. Faster than it took me to put my arms under the covers and roll on my side, my roommate’s phone rang. Mumbling. Chucking. Pacing. There’s a kno...