Okay, so, the flu junk - pretty much gone. No longer am I curled in a ball on the floor, shivering, aching, praying for the Rapture.
But the flippin' cough - it's still here. Three weeks and going strong. Stronger, in fact.
For the past day and a half, I have coughed so hard, I've turned my throat to hamburger meat and burst a blood vessel in my eye.
BURST A BLOOD VESSEL. IN MY EYE.
People, when your eyes are literally trying to pop out of your head, it ain't funny anymore. (Although one might argue it looks pretty funny.)
The hacking is basically non-stop. I have a few seconds of reprieve in between spells, and then it's hack-hack-hack-hack! Of the dry variety. Which I think is the kind you don't want. Wet sounds worse, but I think it's actually supposed to be better. I think goop means your cough is being "productive".
Productive, mine is not. Unless you're talking about producing stress. If that counts, this dude's gonna win a prize!
Last night it was so bad I could barely catch my breath. I was sitting beside the bed (I'm not sure why I wasn't in it, but you know...). Having these barky coughing fits - the tail end of which sounded a bit wheezy. I seriously thought I was going to yack up my lungs. Even the Tussinex (or as Zach calls it, "the Good Green Stuff") wasn't working. That stuff is so strong, it usually knocks out a cough mid-cough. It's like HACK-HACK-HA...stop. The fact that even it wasn't supressing anything was causing a wee bit of anxiety.
I thought, "WUH, oh. What now?"
Remember that woman in The Hand That Rocks The Cradle - the one who basically has the lung capacity of an asthmatic gnat the entire movie (only to turn into Wonder Woman and toss Rebecca De Mornay's Bad Nanny rear out the attic in the end)? Remember that scene where she's all stiff and gray and "mostly dead" on the front porch? Oh, yes. My kookadelic mind kept going to the Bad Place - envisioning Sophie coming into the bedroom to find me that way. I was seriously thinking, "Quick! Wake her up and teach her about 911!" It kept zipping through my mind that I was the only adult in the house. If I was conked out on the floor, Sophs would be all by herself. Wandering around, sniffing her blanket and eating Fruit Roll-ups by the handfuls.
Which, I know, I know - this line of thinking... I was just making everything that much worse. But it's hard to be easy breezy when you're trying to suck air through a coffee straw. Alone. Did I mention Russ is out of town again?
So now I'm off to take the kid-with-the-croup approach to things: Shower. Steam. Maybe a tub of menthol slathered like frosting on my chest.
If that doesn't work, I'm going to start sucking down inhalers.
Sing it with me now, everybody: "I.. I will survive!"