Over the past few weeks, I have unabashedly subjected my friends and co-workers to the cough that wouldn’t die. It all started about a month ago with my biannual sinus infection. Luckily, that coincided with a planned week of vacation, and I shed the malady quicker than usual.
Or so I thought.
Within the week I had developed a dry, hacking cough. After a fortnight, the cough had morphed into a wetter, more phlegmish version of itself,1 which it has remained to this day. However, other than my occasional need to hack up a lung, and perhaps a slight drop in energy levels, I’ve felt fine.
I certainly didn’t feel sick enough to go see the doctor. Besides, the last time I went, back in February (when I’d been done in either by food poisoning or a virulent flu bug), my physician saw me for a grand total of one minute and simply told me to “rest up, and drink plenty of fluids.” Of course, I was charged full-price for such sage advice.
So, yesterday, I did what anyone in my situation would do: I consulted WebMD.
If my self-analysis is correct, I have a little ol’ thing called acute bronchitis.2 This might help to explain not only my extra-cheesy title for yesterday’s post, but also the horrible pun contained in the preceding footnote. (After all, I’d never stoop to such depths if I were in full health, now would I?)3 As for acute bronchitis, it’s rarely contagious. There are no antibiotics to prescribe. And it tends to go away on its own after a few weeks. I just need to rest up, and drink plenty of fluids.
Only this time, my doctor isn’t getting a dime.
1 As opposed to Flemish, which could have been disturbing in its own right. Exhibit A: The works of Hieronymus Bosch.
2 Aw, aren’t you a cute little bronchitis? No, no you’re not. God, no. Ew.
3 Um, don’t answer that.