Silver Lining Tarnished

So. I have been in my house for three weeks. Insistent on getting better, I haven't pushed things, haven't gone out of the house unneccesarily, and haven't even talked on the phone too much. I had a date with my friend to see a band last night that I was very excited about, and I figured I could afford the luxury of going out, because it was at a small venue and was very low key. But the night before last I started wheezing. I was up all night with awful wheezing and coughing that wouldn't let me sleep. Nyquil and codine let me sleep for about four hours, but that was it. I had a doctor's appointment on Friday, originally just a check up, and the man was so bummed at my status, "This just a check up! You supposed to be better! You have bronchial athsma, here, here are two shots in the behind and 5 more medicines." Inbetween gasping for air and coughing out crass little phleghem worms, I asked, "So this means that I can't go out tonight?" And he looked at me, "You already have tickets?" And I said yes, and he goes, "If you favorite band was playing tonight, I would say stay home." So that was that, and I tried not cry. Cabin fever is real, ya'll.

And those cortisone shots? Easy going in, plenty of cush, you know, but the medicine hurt like a beating. He also put me back on the massive antibiotic for ten more days, and a low dose of steroid, and serious(er?) cough medicine, and two inhalers. I feel like, I don't know, too many chemicals, chemical mouth.

Back to school Monday, which feels like getting to go to a Broadway show -- the lights! The people! The literature! I could have danced all night!

Thanks for being here through the illness. And while I don't recommend the pnemonia diet, I sure don't mind the extra pounds.

I will say it again, thanks, 2007. You make the medicine that makes the bad germs go away. Although if it wasn't 2007, I might have had to move to a more suppotive climate, like say, the French Rivera, a la Katherine Mansfield.