That sounds so easy, doesn’t it?
And it is, usually.
Friday night at work I started coughing and my chest felt tight. I put it down to the fact that it was hotter than hell on the floor I was on, but Saturday morning I woke up coughing and couldn’t go more than 20 minutes without hacking up a lung.
So, I dragged myself to urgent care.
(I hate going to doctors, so going that soon says a lot…)
The overall decision was that it’s bronchitis, but my lungs are clear, so it’s probably viral, which means there’s nothing I can do but suffer through it and suck down albuterol every four hours for five days.
This morning I coughed so hard I almost threw up and I think I may have cracked a rib.
And in true writer fashion (see Friday’s post) I’m taking note of how it all feels. (And debating a trip to the ER – see above about hating to go to the doctor.)
And all I can think of is a line in Book 6 of The Academy of the Accord, where Rahmael asks, “How important are ribs, anyway?”
(Sorry so short, but breathing is taking all of my energy.)