Last week I posted that I was finally getting a handle on the bronchitis that had slowed my life so abruptly. After feeling exhausted for weeks, I was feeling better. I was feeling so much better that I’d rolled up my sleeves to tackle the finishing touches on the very latest, very last, version of The Fourth Brother. Progress was being made – and IS being made, by the way. Not as quickly as I’d like, but still, just wait until you read the church scene – and happy, happy, bluebirds and joy, I felt confident when I promised myself and the world that we’d all see the story’s publication by no later than…today.
If you’ve checked your calendar, it’s today. I still don’t have a published story to share with you. I’m a bit disappointed about all of this but only mildly so, because I’m still sick.
I didn’t know this, of course, when I wrote last week’s post. I put my words online, and went to bed with the pleasant confidence of someone who feels as if she’s was on the mend. When I woke up the very next morning, I started to wonder. I was coughing more. I heard some noises in my lungs that I hadn’t heard before. Although, that’s not strictly so. I’d heard similar sounds a few years back, the time I had pneumonia.
I also felt exhausted. Going from the bed to the bathroom and back again can do that to a girl.
Whipping out his stethoscope (Glynn works in the medical field and has a couple of the things. Did you know, medical professional or not, you can buy your own stethoscope at this very minute, and that the prices range anywhere from reasonably inexpensive to unreasonably costly? For less than fifteen dollars, Amazon will ship you a black Omron Sprague Rappaport stethoscope for your use and you’ll have it by the end of the week. Old movies have taught me that you can crack safes with one of those), Glynn pressed the stethoscope’s big round part against my thin nightie and gave me a listen.
As I inhaled and exhaled, he told me, “There’s a wheeze that wasn’t there yesterday. It’s in both bases.”
I didn’t respond because even I could hear the wheezing. Even without some fancy $15 OSR gizmo.
“There’s all kinds of rattles I haven’t heard earlier, too,” he said. “Better call the doc.”
Long story short, my medical professional decided she wanted to see me, too. I’ve visited with her a couple of times since then. Now on a pair of new inhalers, antibiotics, and steroids, I’m feeling much better. Again. And our story is almost, almost done. Next week for certain.
Unless I come down with the bubonic plague.