It was yet another normal morning when I woke up with a cold back. It was only a matter of hours before my throat was sore. The next thing I knew my body was in an all out war with itself. It was plagued with aches, chills, fever, and just general misery. The last day of work was not graced by my presence. I attended my brother’s wedding and had to warn people not to hug me. The chicken looked good but I could not eat it. The fever finally broke on Saturday but the cough lingered for days. Its force cautioned me not to eat food lest I see it again after the fact. Coughing fits interrupted the night as well as the day. Fatigue kept me bed ridden. Gasping for air was common. It was in that ocean of despair that I reached out to my primacy care physician; I required medical attention.
Upon entering his new office, the lovely pale green simply captured my attention. All of the people were so friendly. Someone came to greet me and shook my hand. I began to wonder if I was in the right place. Perhaps my doctor was replaced by his uncle. What exactly was happening here. When I was finally led to the room, there he was waiting for me. I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE HIM! He took one blink at me and said Bronchitis. He then rambled off some words to his nurse practitioner and hauled. She completed the exam and he returned to check on everything.
The meds are working. The coughing fits are better and are no longer attempting to take me out. My diet has changed from watermelon to Jamaican soups. Meds are scheduled throughout the day. My mother and the Jamaican Posse are circling with requests for me to stay down south with them so that they may cook for me and make a general fuss over my existence. Life is pretty good.