Wow! I have been sick. Sick as a dog sick. Sick, as I never want to be sick again for sickness sake sick. It all started out innocent enough. A cold. A tickle. An annoying drip. Who knew what a drip could do? Well, if a drip of water over millions of years could produce the world’s most humongous stalactites, I guess a drip in my throat for a month could build up just as well. So, perhaps there is a stalactite in my chest. Sure felt like one. A crushing, pressing, invasive, stalactite. As I helped my son with his inhaler (because he was sick too) I’m having visions of taking a hit off of it, like a drug addict looking for a fix. You know, there is something inherently wrong if you are fantasizing about suckin’ off your kids inhaler. Bad mommy. Desperate mommy. Breathing is not overrated. I needed help.
Off to the doctor, who by the way was impressed with the fact that I had a conscience and didn’t inhale with my son. I got my own brand, new, shiny inhaler along with a high dose of antibiotics for a diagnosed sinus infection. I could feel the weight lifitng from my chest, as I knew the meds would take care of everything…WRONG!
I am walking around the house sounding like a 30-year smoker. Slap on a pink waitress uniform and some garish blue eye shadow like on the caricature type, 90 year old waitress who raspily calls you toots and sounds like she’s coughing up a lung while she pours your stale coffee in some seedy diner. That’s what I sounded like. The kids look at me with frightened eyes. They aren’t used to me like this.
Now, we move on to steroids….OY. Ten days of steroids is enough to put anyone over the edge. One moment you are a ravenous carb-o-holic vulture, and the next, you’re staring off into space like a cat coming down from a cat-nip overdose. But wait, there’s more. The cough is still not waning, so now we are on Advair-an inhaled steroid. I never thought it would happen, but I am now actually taking medication that is advertised on TV. You know, where they give you so many potential side effects including death, but the people on TV look happy anyway? I was soooo not happy, but on the up side, I could breathe. Again, totally not overrated.
Slowly, I begin to come back to the world of the breathing. My son, who is in first grade and is trying to get a grasp on homophones, says, “Couging, and coffee are homophones.” Here’s a refresher for those who are too embarrassed to remember 1st grade phonics…homophones are words that sound the same but are spelled differently….like pair and pear. “No sweetie, those aren’t homophones, they don’t even have the same endings,” I tell him gently. The fact that I even give a damn to correct him means that I am finally feeling better.
Comments
Post a Comment