I am in day 8 or 9 of this nastiness. This Upper Respiratory non-sense that modern medicine says they can do nothing about. That you just need to ride the waive till the end. All though we will give you our heaviest laced codeine based cough suppressant. Suppressant my ass! I think it works as suppressant only because you are so stoned that you don’t have time to cough. I mean seriously Friday night; I went places, but never left the house. I just keep remembering random bouts of speech through the nigh and a cold, cold sweat “The trench! Yes, the Trench! The gods damned trench. What is the trench? Where did it come from?” These questions have no rational answers for they came from an irrational mind. A mind that could not tell was it coming or was it going. Was it here or was it over there.
All of this keeps going on and there is a non-stop drumming going on. A boom boom booming into the deep dark night that sounds more like a sputtering car than a night train. The cough is relentless. It doesn’t know how to give up. It must be allowed to run its course that is what the good doctors say.
The puddles of sweat you wake up in make no sense, because you aren’t hot, you are freezing. You are trying to move you sore body just the right way to get to fan to turn it off. You can’t move to fast though. Moving to fast causes a tickle. The tickle starts a chain reaction the leads to a cough. The cough becomes a gag. The gag, etc.… etc.. You are spreading bile into the trashcan.
Sunday you feel better. Hell you might go as far as to say you feel good. You get up at 9 and you have some hot tea. You sip water all day. You have an English muffin with a little butter and honey and you hold it down. Is this really such a victory? Yes probably since you have not had solids other than noodles in soup since Wednesday. Hell you are even sure when the last time you ate two meals in a day and that saying something for you.
All day Sunday you look forward to one thing and one thing only. To sleep and drift off into REM all so that you can get up on Monday morning and feel like part of the human race again. All so that you can get up like a good solider and report to the front line and receive your orders.
However, when you lay down everything goes wrong. The sweats come back. The cough, the ever-laboring cough comes back, the non-stop tossing and turning. Around 2:30 a.m. and sitting on the side of your bed with you face buried into the trash can you know work is nothing more than a pipe dream. That you can’t possible expect that tomorrow will be normal.
You are so tired of sitting down, lying that you start pacing your bedroom. There is not much space there so you go to the living room. The dog watches you thinking you have come to play. You don’t want to stay in this part of the house for to long so you don’t contaminate. So you shuffle on by. 10 paces to the wine wrack, from there another ten or so to the lazy boy, then another ten we cross the plan of the couch, we head back towards our bedroom, when we get to door we decide to do it one more time so we take twenty paces back to the TV where our journey started. A 70 pace trip in all. Then, well then we cough. It isn’t as brutal as it used to be. It is productive. Things are moving. However it is still a cough. You get a sharp pain running up your left side. Your throat feel like is has been in a meat grinder. However, you don’t know what to do now because the last thing you want to do is go sit or lye down. So you just stand there looking into the back yard.
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