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Thanks, Dad. During the afternoon I worked on a powerpoint presentation I was giving the following Wednesday. Little did I know that the secretary helping me, the secretary that everyone thought was recovering from a mild case of the sniffles, was really "Typhoid Mary" in disguise. Cue ominous music. Saturday — March 6, The term "post nasal drip" didn't really describe the drowning sensation I was experiencing.
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Raiding my medicine cabinet I brought out my supply of Mucinex , Sudafed the good stuff they keep behind the pharmacy counter so the meth-heads can't get at it. I understand the "protect the stupid" principle but it seems totally unfair to regular sinusitis sufferers , and Afrin nosedrops. I also had a new bottle of Robitussin. Early implementation of this anti-cold arsenal should have been enough to fend off the "common cold. By the time I'd made my weekly grocery store run and my regular 6-week root touchup at the salon, I knew I was in trouble.
Sunday — March 7, I woke up every two hours all night long — sneezing, coughing and filling up two trash cans with Kleenex. Soon I'd used all the Kleenex and moved on to rolls of Charmin — even the "squeezable-ly soft" kind rubs your nose raw after a few hundred yards are swiped past it. My throat was sore, my lungs were filling, and if I were anything but vertical, I risked instant death.
I warned my co-author via a virus checked email that when someone came to search for my body, they should look under the pile of used tissues. She was more worried about where my notes were for the third Sullivan Investigation mystery.
Monday — March 8, I needed to go into the office to practice my powerpoint presentation. I was schedule to speak for an hour on Wednesday to representatives of two federal agencies and several of my staff — you never want to embarrass yourself in front of your own staff. But besides the fact that my voice was now gone, I just didn't care that much anymore about my career.
I just wanted to make it until Tuesday — a scheduled appointment with a new G. I hoped to talk him into an antibiotic for the sinus infection, tonsillitis, or ear infection that I knew was headed my way like an out-of-control Prius.
Tuesday — March 9, My new doctor doesn't have a great office. My HMO suggested him — he was close to my house and accepting new patients. The waiting room needed a good vacuuming and I might have been his only non-Medicare patient, but the doctor was unexpectedly nice. He took my medical history himself.
He listened to what I was saying without any hint that I was taking up too much of his time. He prescribed a "Z pack" and advised me to stop chasing the Sudafed with Robitussin. I went home, took my first dose of "Z" and tried to rest. My co-author warned me that I probably shouldn't be considering leaving my house on Wednesday.
Wednesday — March 10, I got no sleep. There wasn't enough makeup in the world to disguise my Rudolph red nose or dark circles, but my hair did look nice. As one of my last acts, the trip to the salon was well worth it. Baptists have open caskets and good hair is important. But back to my powerpoint presentation — I did it. The audience was attentive even if everyone kept their distance.
I managed not to sneeze too much. I had a big roll of Charmin in my purse and I used most of it in the first four hours. But later in the afternoon, I could tell I'd started running a temperature and I was doing a lot of mouth-breathing. At about pm, I called it a day and made the 45 minute drive home from Tulsa and crawled into bed, ignoring the phone calls from people wanting to know how sick I was.
I was plenty sick - and no, there was nothing anyone could do for me. It was just the common cold, after all. Thursday — March 11, The meeting I was attending was a two day event. But not for me. I had moved into the "coughing up my toes" stage of my "common cold. Friday — March 12, I'm still on sick leave from work, but I can breathe again through my nose.
Okay, I'm holding a heating pad to my chest when I cough now can people really break ribs from coughing? No fever.
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No headache. The one thing that really worries me is that tomorrow, Saturday, is my last day for "Z. Sunday could be the first healthy day of the rest of my life or the day the sun went black.
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Either way I'm uploading this blog on Saturday for a Monday posting date. Leave me a comment and I'll let you know how I'm doing Monday — if I can. Rhonda The Southern "overly dramatic" half of Evelyn David p. But, hey, be grateful I cut out most of the really gross descriptions of my illness.
There is nothing pretty about the "common cold. I'm just saying … Maybe that's a health care change we could all believe in. Labels: Common Cold , Evelyn David. Marilyn Meredith a. Elsewhere on the pools and surrounding fields, undisturbed, more ducks sleep, waders dig in the mud and hundreds of geese are waddling across the grass, munching. Two more birdwatchers join me. I nod and smile, but let them enjoy the sounds and the spectacle without intruding for a few minutes. Weaving among the lapwings is a cream-coloured wader — a ruff — lacking the male breeding finery that gives the bird its name.
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