Today’s major concern is that I can’t sleep because of the coughing. The runny nose is annoying, sure, and the agony in my chest and throat are terrible but I can’t sleep it off if I can’t sleep. I’m mostly okay when I’m sitting up, with occasional spells of coughing that make me do my impression of an eighty year old woman.
When I lay down, however, the real fun starts. I cough every five minutes or less, the kind that makes your abs and head hurt, your eyes drip tears and the last meal you ate revisit your mouth. Yes, it’s disgusting. But not as disgusting as the way my lungs sound. I think I got a total of an hour’s worth of sleep last night in 30 minute increments before I just gave up and stayed awake. Current status: wired, like you get when you haven’t slept.
As much as I hate going to the doctor, I’m going as soon as they open up and will let me come in. I require the magical elixir of the gods that I’ve had a couple of times before when I had bronchitis: narcotic cough syrup.
Let me tell you, that shit’s nasty. I do not know why anyone would drink this when they aren’t at death’s door, but it seems they do. Our modern bards have even written songs about it, proving that like the bard in Holy Grail they deserve to be beaten to death. It is this terrible concoction that I have to search out, however, because I cannot function on 30 minutes of sleep at a time. I mean, I could, but not when I’m also coughing, dripping and my head is stuffed full of cotton batting. While the cold/sinus medication and allergy pills are keeping most of the symptoms at bay, my usual type of cough syrup and method of ingestion are just not working.
Also sucky is the fact that to go see the doctor, I am going to require a walk-in appointment and have to wait while people give me the stink-eye for coughing at them. I also have to miss work, which double sucks because everyone there is going to think the only reason I’m out is because it’s the beginning of my two weeks’ notice. It also means I’m going to get back tomorrow and have people call me a slacker and say shit like “did you enjoy your day off while the rest of us were busting our asses?” No, actually, I did not.
I suppose I’d better shower before I go explain to the doctor how I’m pretty sure I’m dying, can’t sleep and am getting sleep madness from it, and beg him for some cough syrup that I’m going to swear up and down I’m not using to make creepy club drinks. And also ask for a work excuse because dammit, I feel like shit and I’m not going to have people think I’m off drinking brown liquor and snorting coke off hookers’ asses. I would own up to that in a heartbeat.
Except the brown liquor because ew.