Posts Tagged With: Cough

A Mess of Mixed Metaphors

“I am the captain of my soul, I am the master of my….” whatever…

Whoever said that, whenever they said it, didn’t have the eternal cough of the blue plague of 2013.

Sure you can pick your attitude but that’s about it.  You can’t pick up an extra packet of actual physical energy at the corner drugstore when the survival of your basic vital organs has taken precedent over, oh, lets say, walking and sleeping and eating.

When breathing in becomes akin to sucking air through a soggy wet sponge and exhaling is more like a ’55 chevy truck trying to get started on a subzero morning, attitude counts for zilch.

Bad Hair Day

Bad Hair Day (Photo credit: simon_redwood)

No amount of perkiness is going to hide that hair sculpted uniquely by the pillow you molded, wrestled, cursed, punched and eventually drooled all over. The lovely color coördinated pajamas you carefully picked out to show stalwart resilience, sooner than later give over to a kind of Harry-Potter-got-dressed-with-some-things-from-Hermoine’s-bottomless-purse-look that should never be purposely duplicated.

And when you think you’ve cheerfully hit that magical spot in the illness where improvement feels imminent, you’ll overdo it by, oh I don’t know, sweeping off the front porch rug and running a load of laundry. And suddenly you’re back to desperately whispering sweet nothings to your lungs in hopes of pacifying them into a quiet stasis.

Days and nights run into each other, not even bothering to say excuse me, in a kind of manic rush of boring nothingness. Where is optimism now? In the trash can with the overflowing used Kleenex and saltine wrappers.

The formerly comfy couch and I have become too well acquainted. It’s not a healthy relationship anymore. I’m thinking of cutting back to visiting once or twice a week.  I’d like to renew my friendships with my boss and her neurotic dog, my car, the grocery store, my gardening and the laundry.  It’d be wondrous to see real live people again, too!

Highclere Castle

Too much Netflix, too many books, too much internet combine into a perfect storm of fevered sleepless weirdness involving Downton Abbey, White Collar and Sherlock Holmes which, oddly, seem to go together ever so well.  At least they did. In the haze of cheerful coughing everything is lovely, loverly, lovely!! Cue the soundtrack to “My Fair Lady.”

But now, ah yes, now I am on the upswing.  No, nix that.  I did not say that.  I don’t want the virus/bacteria/evil dark Sith to know that I think my body is winning.  After all, Attitude is Everything and Pride goeth before a Fall and all that. Rest, rest, rest, rest and more rest is about all I am capable of or should try to do.

Han Solo and Chewbacca

Until the rebel forces prevail and the planets all align, I will continue to sip herbal tea, Russian Tea, hot ginger honey and lemon, hot chocolate, mulled cider, broth, powerade and NON-diet coke. Once Han Solo shows up with Chewbacca, then and only then, will I stop slurping Ramen noodles, yogurt, Chicken Soup and saltine crackers.

Do I seem a little lost in fantasy land? Yup, I probably am. I’m teetering on the edge of a not so optimistic attitude, thinking this cough really will never end.

I can’t imagine keeping my sanity intact for an illness of any real magnitude.  As it is, this nineteen-day (so far) cough has pushed me to my perkiness limits.

Don’t worry.  I’m working on it.  I’ll get there.  In the meantime, I’ll just rest and try to stay off the internet as much as possible.

Where’s my book?

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Categories: Humor, Mental Health | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Lambchop and the Borg

So it’s day eight of an apparently eternal cough.  I am a mere newbie from all reports I’ve read or heard.

LAMB CHOP

Isn’t Lambchop a sweetie? (Photo credit: happydacks)

To paraphrase a lovely puppet from the sixties, Lambchop, “This is the cough that never ends, it just goes on and on my friend, somebody started coughing once not knowing what it was and they’ll continue coughing now forever just because this is the cough that never ends, it just goes on and on my friends, somebody started….”

Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

I’ve heard from some that it only lasts two weeks.  MSH has been battling the crud since before Christmas. I read of one who’s been hacking since the dawn of time, Thanksgiving. My doctor said nine days. How did she come up with nine days? Why nine, not eight, or twelve.  She probably figured by day nine I would have lost track of what day it was (I have) and I wouldn’t care anymore (I don’t.) Smart doctor.

star trek borg race Star Trek Exhibit at Queen...

“Resistance is Futile” So is cough suppressant! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Apparently this evil abomination of a cough laughs in the face of antibiotics, chortles at inhalers, becomes maniacal at the introduction of steroids. To quote the Borg from Star Trek, “Resistance is futile.” In other words, cough suppressants are useless, too.

I had a little run in with an over-the-counter cough suppressant that failed to warn me of the possible hallucinations, nausea, light-headedness and chills that would accompany the promised temporary cessation of cough. I know I should have googled it before taking it, but I was already beside myself.  Or at least I was beside my lung, which I had hacked up during the previous few coughing bouts.

At least during the next eighteen hours of coughing I wasn’t quite so freaked out by it because I was, by all accounts, high as a kite!!

The dreams I have between hacking sessions are bizarre and frightening. Perhaps that explains my earlier references to Lambchop and The Borg in the same blogpost.

I’ve resigned myself to living out my remaining days in my robe and slippers, of which I have two choices. My boss, bless her generous heart and sense of humor, gave me a leopard print robe and leopard print slippers as a Christmas gift. So now I can be stylishly near death’ s door.

Leopard Rug

Leopard Rug (Photo credit: Curious Expeditions)

When that robe gets too germ infested I can wash it and wear my puffy blue cloud print robe which matches where my head is at and where I hope to end up should this cough dispense my other lung on the floor.

I have come to one conclusion through this.  Hell is not a fiery pit, it is a coughing fit.

I have a few last words for you.  Hand Sanitizer. Vitamin C. Zinc Tablets. Face Mask.

Be well and may your immune system stay strong!

Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

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