Pulverised Lungs and the Wonders of Yoghurt

I share with you my first embarrassing moment for 2012

Well, Christmas is done and dusted; most festivities are over and for some of us lucky people holidays begin.  I had a wonderful Christmas, full of family gatherings, two weddings, no funeral [thank goodness], one birthday and an engagement announcement.  Despite the fun and frivolities I was not one hundred percent well and here is my story.

Take me [later] but save the children

Fortunately, I survived the hectic festive season by taking my illness and going deeply into denial.  It worked to a point but I did have to make a valiant effort to be responsible.  I went to my Favourite Doctor early December for a Whooping Cough test.  I had a deliriously gorgeous two month old niece coming to visit over Christmas and my present for her was wrapped.  I was not going to let Whooping Cough get hold of my little niece.  With the 'All Clear' from Favourite Doc as well as a box of antibiotics to kill Bronny Bronchitis, I was happy that I was on the road to recovery.

Or Was I?

On Boxing Day, when everything came to a grinding halt in my world I took some time out for a granny nap.  That’s when I realised my body in particular my lungs were a ‘pulverised’ and agonising mess.  Remember, up till now I was operating in denial, ignoring and hiding my cough.  Not easy to do as you will find out.  Two days later, exhausted from lack of sleep, I called my Favourite Doctor’s receptionist.  “The last appointment for the week is Tuesday 3:30pm.” Caustic Clerk snapped at me.  I was quick with a reply “Um, 3:30pm Tuesday you said?  Yep, that works, I’ll take it, thank you – I love you [not].”  Now, 3:30pm means 4:30pm with no apologies.  You just suck it up if you want your Favourite Doctor.  I usually pack a bag and make a day of it.  Sharing my time and germs with other likeminded people is such fun.

Time to See the Doc

The day arrived and I have this thing where I hate walking into a room of people who just stare and make judgements.  I’d rather slide in, no grand entrance for me.  I take a chair way over in the corner and seeing I had a really bad cough the far queue was where I belonged.  It must be pension day I thought because the surgery was full of senior citizens with hearing aids and walking sticks, [Well, I can make judgements too].  From the corner of my eye I could see the Senior C’s watching me.  I was getting uncomfortably hot and suppressing a serious cough and I didn’t want to alarm the front seaters, it was a nasty cough.  I shifted in my seat, searched for nothing in my bag and then bravely went and picked up a two year old magazine. 

Here’s the Moment

I could hold it no more.  With freshly washed handkerchief pressed firmly over mouth, I coughed with an out of control fury and spluttered and snorted.  My eyes overflowed and then the excess poured from my nose, I was sweating and red as a beetroot.  My ears popped and I dry-reached in a not lady like fashion and then um….. I passed wind!  OMG, how embarrassment! 

Time to See the Doc

Finally, 4:30pm arrived and I get to see Favourite Doc for my 3:30pm appointment.  I figure I’ve got ten minutes allocated and even though she’s running late we chat about how hot it is, tennis and how grumpy everyone is because it’s so hot.  I then feel obliged to bring the conversation back to me.  Favourite Doc has a quick listen to Bronny B rumbling away in my chest and then announces that whilst I might ‘not be much better’ my cough’s ‘slightly improved’. 

I Need a Hug

What the …….!  At this point and after that declaration, I decide I’m over this experience, I want to go home where I can cough and fart and snort in peace.  I cannot feel the love in this place, not from Caustic Clerk, Senior Citizens or Favourite Doc.  Bronny B is my enemy so no love to be gained there.

A Cocktail of Pills

For my trouble though, I get two new scripts for more antibiotics.  One she says will give me diarrhoea and the other will make me constipated but should do the trick.  The third script for inflammation in my lungs should knock Bronny B for six, or I will at least get hairs growing on my chest.  “Come back Friday for a reassessment” she chirps sweetly and as she walks me out her door.  Do you know I never coughed once in her office, Bronny B is seeking the utmost revenge? 

A total of eight minutes passed from the time I sat my derriere on Favourite Doc’s visitor chair to settling my account with Caustic Clerk for the experience and her wonderful hospitality.  I looked to the remainder of my earlier audience, possibly with hearing aids turned down this time and bravely smiled their way, performed a little cough and turned to leave.  

At the same time, Favourite Doc appeared around the corner of the room and called out “Chris, don’t forget to buy some yoghurt on the way home like we discussed.”  I turned and looked at what was left of my adoring audience and with flaming cheeks and some dignity remaining I called back “Will I eat it or apply it?”  Favourite Doc said with all sincerity “I think you should do both.  See you Friday.”  

With pulverised lungs and slightly embarrassed I was none the less ready to enjoy the healthy properties of too many antibiotics and yoghurt.  I didn't dare glance at the Senior C’s this time.  Cheers