Most of my energy came back yesterday, but it’s a fickle thing. It likes to hang around all day eating up the Doritos, and then when I need it most, saunter out the door with me asking plaintively, “But where are you going?” “Out.” Fickle, fickle energy.
What I’m up against now is the Nighttime Coughing and none of my old tricks are helping.
Falling asleep with a cough drop–doesn’t work.
Sleeping propped completely upright in a chair–doesn’t work.
OTC cough suppressant–doesn’t work.
As soon as the sun goes down The Coughing begins. Darling Husband has been delightedly making fun of my coughing as payback to all the fun I made of his cough earlier this month. Ok, I wasn’t technically the one making the fun. Boy8 was. But I did laugh at Boy8’s antics. Clearly, Darling Husband is collecting his payback.
And then, when I lie down, it gets worse. The dragon awakens in my lungs and begins to bellow. Roar, roar, roar. After an hour or two of endless coughing, I finally pass out from the drama only to be awakened again every 30 minutes from The Cough. The Cough leaves me with no air in my lungs and me gasping for breath, tears streaming down my face from the force of the cough, afraid I’ll suffocate by morning. Really, I can’t breathe. It makes the prayer, “If I should die before I wake” feel dreadfully relevant.
The only thing that works is standing up. If I stand up, the urge to cough goes away. I’ve spent the last three nights alternately trying to sleep on a chair, propped up on a couch, or pacing the room mentally inventing various harnesses that would hold me up in a standing position so I can get some sleep.
My last resort is a medicine called Tessalon Perle. It’s a gel capsule that is supposed to anesthetize the tickle that makes you cough all night. Barbetta, my nurse practitioner friend, told me about it at dinner one day. Someone else at the dinner was complaining of a cough and Barbetta talked about using “pearls.” I thought this was fascinating since Barbetta is normally highly skeptical of home remedies. Why would she think that swallowing pearls would help a cough? But we got that all cleared up (tessalon perle, not pearls) and I said to her, a bit testily, “How come doctors never tell you about this stuff when you have a cough?! How would I get my hands on this stuff?” She said that you have to call them and tell them you cannot sleep and ask them for heeeeelp. I filed this tidbit away for a rainy day.
So this morning, clearly a Rainy Day, after three nights of unrest I called my nurse practitioner (Jen) and got an appointment. Jen works in the same office as Barbetta, which is a good thing. I tell Jen all the time, “Barbetta tells me this and Barbetta tells me that,” about my medical conditions. If Jen didn’t know Barbetta I’m sure she’d just roll her eyes at all the things “my friend Barbetta” tells me. But Jen knows Barbetta and hopefully trusts that Barbetta knows her stuff. So when I
desperately grapped Jen by the lapels and demanded said, “Barbetta told me that Tessalon Perle can help coughs. Give me some!” she gave it to me.
We’ll know in a few hours whether or not it works.
Oh! And she also said that it sounds like I had the flu. The flu! Influenza, people! That’s way worse than a man cold. No wonder there was all that whimpering and lack of energy and tissues everywhere and having my family wait on me. The flu! That’s what killed Edward and turned him into a vampire, people! This is serious stuff!
I finished Breaking Bad two days ago. I had to buy those last 8 episodes, if you recall. Without giving anything away to those who haven’t seen it, the one thing I expected to happen, happened. I mean, we all saw that coming so it wasn’t a big shock. We were just curious as to how the writers bring it about.
But all the other stuff! Ay yi yi! Those writers were brutal. Wow. I didn’t expect any of the other thing to go down the way they did. Breaking Bad is a cautionary tale: If you do wrong, you’ll get your due. No exceptions. Even the innocent bystanders. Yipes.
Apparently my 70 year old aunt is watching Breaking Bad, too. She posted a bizarre post on Facebook calling us all “B——, yo!” Huh?!? Aunt Ginger! You are not a 20-odd year old drug dealer! You’re a little old lady! You can’t go around calling people names like that. Someone’s gonna beat you up, yo.