I was minding my own business when I breathed in and heard all sorts of other noises that should not accompany breathing. I felt like the Addams Family; Morticia's sister Ophelia could sing 3 part harmony at once. Well, this was the closest I was going to get to it anyway. It was like a cough combined with a wheeze combined with a tin whistle, all at once. This should have alerted me something was up, but I try not to pay close attention to stuff my body's trying to tell me. It's never good news, ya know?
Within a day or 3, I started hacking up a lung, along with the accompanying noise, which was enough to scare politicians off legislation for their own pay raises. At about this point, I noticed that even my hair hurt. Arm hair, head hear, whatever hair - it hurt. So it would start out with front of body hair, ouch, then reacting by backing up hair. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, and errrrrr.
They tell you to look at the stuff you bring up and if it's colorful, that's a problem. This stuff was colorful, to the tune of some sort of disgusting dark green, with a touch of Jackson Pollack. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack.
The Mystery Illness also played havoc with my sleep because I couldn't get a clear nostril for breathing. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, Snore. I knew if I didn't get it fixed, I'd be sleeping in the basement, but politely.
So I was a zombie, terribly tired, and would fall halfway asleep anywhere that wasn't my bed. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, Snore. After I few days I became tired of this and asked if we shouldn't pay a visit to the hospital. This was my error, either that or the triage result for not breathing came somewhat lower than sneezing. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, masked hack. I was beginning to warn Wife that if I passed out, she should go get someone to look at me, as it had been four hours. We got one of those nice rooms, right outside the hallway from other rooms. I told them they couldn't charge me for a room if I didn't sit in one. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, mask Splotch, beeping.
After some testing and constant ringing of room bells, they decided it was viral, hence would have to work its own way though. You know, I had been treating the symptoms for a week, so I didn't find too much value in a professional opinion. Since the illness had made me feel like I had been dead for a week, I was looking for more of a solution that involved prescription medicines, or at least involving a lot of Yoo Hoo. Splotch, Ow, Double Splotch, errr, hack, mask Splotch, beeping. Snore.
Because of the viral mess, I have temporarily lost my sense of taste. I hate my body, as do many others. When I can't taste, I start eating stuff I don't like, out of spite. Lots of stinky cheese!
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So I was left to treat the symptoms. I'd get up in the morning, treat the symptoms, then get up the next morning, and treat the symptoms. It was kind of a Symptomatic Treatment with no Point. At least I assumed my new identity as Mucus Man. It's a shame mucus can't fuel a car - I'd be rich.
After a week of treating symptoms, I became tired and weary and called my doctor. He described precisely the conditions of the Emergency Room and did his own exam. We decided on some prescription medicines, which always makes people feel better. NOTE: do not take antibiotics just for fun; only for the correct infection. Antibiotics are losing efficacy because they're randomly overprescribed.
So I continued to treat the symptoms (these symptoms gotta go, perhaps buried in some landfill in New Jersey). I got an inhaler, for the first time in my life. I'd start telling people I had some sort of horrible lung disease, but I rarely leave the house and people don't terrify as easily as they used to. On the positive side, the inhaler is famous; I can tell because it has plenty of commercials, all day long, with people singing and dancing and being stupid on purpose.
Aside from the Mucus Minders, I find it odd that the only medicine that has any definite effect is ibuprofen (generic Advil). It gets rid of headaches, fevers, and threatens mucus, like the guys who operate New Jersey landfills. I think the conspiracy here is that Big Pharma<tm> has nothing to compete with ibuprofen, so it's the only thing that works. This does not stop them from coming out with more and more expensive Pills That Don't Work.
One of the weirdest side effects of the sickness is on sleep. If I go to bed early, I wake up refreshed, only to find that I've just slept a total of 2 hours and can't get back to sleep. Going to bed early seems to cause less sleep - it makes perfect sense. And I cough a lot. Nothing much comes of it, but I can clear a waiting room faster than one of my own jokes. But I know it's serious when I have no desire to eat. On my deathbed, I'll be demanding ice cream, so not wanting any is worrisome.
Wife was amazing through all of this. She, ever hypervigilant, would watch me in bed, to see if I stopped breathing. I never understood if not breathing was a good thing or not, so I didn't ask. I could run an Abrams tank through the room and over the bed without waking her. But if I coughed once, she wanted to know if I was ok and could she get me anything. Fight with your spouse all you want, but this is where the rubber meets the sidewalk.
So after 3 weeks of this crap, I'm still coughing, still have minor fevers, still Mr. Mucus, and still don't sleep right. I consider this all a success. A grave success.
And after asking around, I start to wonder about this. Many seem to have this ailment, whatever it is. Some were diagnosed with the Flying AIDS, some not (me). But the symptoms and length seem to go on forever, with no meds actually helping. Makes one wonder....
Stay well.
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