Posted tagged ‘Cough’

“If a doctor treats your cold, it will go away in fourteen days. If you leave it alone, it will go away in two weeks.”

October 15, 2015

Today is the mass in honor of my mother who passed away ten years ago. I am not there; instead, I am home coughing, sniffling and complaining though no one is here to listen. I do not get colds so this threw me for a loop. My guess is I caught it at the reunion where someone, a Typhoid Mary type, was passing the germ amid all the hugs and kisses. I am not happy.

This will be a short post. I’m going back to bed after dousing myself with a variety of cold medicines. My voice is so deep I could sing bass or make obscene phone calls. When I cough, Gracie lives the room. The cats don’t even notice. They sleep right through my hacking.

I’d like one of those talking dolls they sold when I was a kid. They had a string you pulled to make them talk, and they said things like “I love you,” but I want mine to say things like “You poor baby” or “How about some nice hot chicken soup?” I remember The Twilight Zone episode when the talking doll was evil. “My name is Talky Tina, and I’m going to kill you.” I’ll pass on that one.

The common cold has no cure and you just have to let it runs its course. I sleep and take medicine to dull the symptoms for a while. The only hope I have is pneumonia. That they can cure.

” Imagine what it would be like if TV actually were good. It would be the end of everything we know.”

March 22, 2015

I have not escaped winter’s wrath. My head aches, my throat is scratchy and my cough scares the dog. Luckily I have a doctor’s appointment this week. Unluckily I am entertaining. It is difficult to be gracious and welcoming when your only wish is to be in bed under the warm covers; however, I will rise to the occasion. Besides, that’s what home restaurant delivery is for.

The snow disappeared but the cold stayed. Getting the newspaper was a quick out and in. I didn’t even take time to admire the morning, but I did notice the birds singing.

March has always been one of those months when little happens. It isn’t spring yet except for the date and it isn’t really winter either as the season is losing its strength. Every warm day gives us hope then winter rushes back in and the nights are freezing.

This is a rant about things I notice on TV. Newscasters always either carry tablets or have them on the desk in front of them, but they never once look at them. During winter you seldom see the huffs of people’s breathing when they’re outside in the cold air. The cups of take-out coffee are always empty. Gibbs on NCIS has yet to drink a cup of coffee. He puts the cup to his mouth and pretends to drink, but the cup is never heavy and the coffee is never hot. On Rizzoli and Isles they mispronounce the names of Massachusetts’ cities even though the show supposedly takes place in Boston. They ride on highways which don’t exist in this state. On the Big Bang Theory nobody really eats the take-out. They toy with their food though once in a while Howard takes a bite of his lunchtime salad. I get the no eating as too many takes would mean too much food, but they could make it a bit more realistic. Really, how times does one dish of food need to be moved about with a fork?

I can watch the worst movies on the syfy channel. I loved Sharknato as ridiculous as it was, but it was intended to be that way. I just suspend disbelief, and it all works out for me, but for programs which are meant to be real life, I scoff at the little things. They drive me crazy.

“The sky is the daily bread of the eyes.”

January 31, 2013

The wind howled all night and rain pounded against the windows. I heard it when the coughing woke me up, but I didn’t mind being awakened as I might have missed the rain, one of my favorite sounds. The howling wind was a bonus. It could have been from the soundtrack of an old black and white horror movie, like The Werewolf.

Yesterday morning I called my friend of over forty years, and he thought I was a guy named Paul. That was it for me. I called the doctor. They wanted me in right away. I think my coughing during the phone call worked to great effect. Come to find out my cold has morphed into bronchitis and was working its way toward pneumonia. I’m on all sorts of stuff right now which should make me sound far less like Paul and more like me.

It’s still windy and rainy. I had to convince Gracie to go out this morning then I ran for the papers and yesterday’s mail which was still in the box. The mail was boring. I have to get Gracie’s license today. It is, of course, the very last day to get it without an extra fee. I like living on the edge!

At the doctor’s they told me I needed to rest. I almost laughed out loud. Rest is my middle name. I love a good afternoon nap.

Because I haven’t seen anyone or been anywhere, my life has no new stories and no new people. I communicate entirely by phone. I spend the day reading and relaxing. I know, I know, a really tough way to while away the day. I’ve been reading David Baldacci, The Forgotten, and I like it. I stretch out on the couch with my afghan covering me and my dog beside me. If I weren’t sick, I’d think my life idyllic.

The rain has stopped, and the sun is out. The sky is mostly blue. I can still hear the wind, and through my window I can see the swaying branches of the oak and pine. It looks like a pretty day.

“We are always the same age inside.”

January 29, 2013

Today I face the world or both Gracie and I go hungry. A sunny day would have been a nice welcome, but we still have all those clouds and a dampness left over from the little snow we had last night before it started to rain. Slush covers the side roads, and you can see all the tire marks. A mouse woke me up. It wasn’t happy with its accommodation in the have-a-heart trap and was banging and whacking the metal. I fell back to sleep a couple of times, but finally I couldn’t take it any longer. We went for a ride around 7:30: Gracie, the mouse and I. Despite all its complaining, the mouse didn’t want out. It kept moving from side to side in the trap before I finally shook it loose. I wished it well in its new home then I went and got coffee and a bagel. That seemed a perfect reward for an early morning mouse run.

My voice is raspy, and I still sniff and cough, but I feel better. That’s a good thing.

This morning I noticed the obituary of one of my high school classmates, a good guy, a funny guy. I don’t know what happened, but his dying gave me pause. My mind doesn’t ever think of me as old. I am perpetually young. Going up and downstairs is usually a reminder that my parts have aged, but the reminder doesn’t stick. I look in the mirror and see grey hairs, but they don’t mean anything to me. My friends are all around my age, but they still seem young to me. I can’t fathom they are in the their mid to late 60’s. What in the heck does that really mean? I thought my parents were old when they were in their 60’s. My dad passed away in his 60’s. I bet, though, they thought themselves still young just as I do now.

I finally understand that age is relative. I used to think that was what old people said to make themselves feel better, but it’s not. Age isn’t measured in years. It’s measured in the way you live your life. I have a long way to go until I’m old.

“The most poetical thing in the world is not being sick.”

January 27, 2013

This morning I’m on the mend. My voice is still creaky and my cough fierce but I feel better. Last night I slept longer before the coughing woke me and was able to get back to sleep instead of having to come downstairs at some ungodly hour to watch garbage TV. Staying home cozy and warm and taking naps have been the best cure for this.

When I was a kid, I seldom was sick enough to stay home from school. My mother set the bar pretty high. Sniffles weren’t enough. Coughing might have done it, but the degree of coughing was the key. Once I had the measles so I had to stay home, but that was no fun because the room was kept dark, and I wasn’t allowed to read. I just stayed in bed all day and was totally bored. What a waste of staying home! I know I had mumps and German measles but I don’t remember when. I also had chicken pox, and I remember taking baking soda baths so I wouldn’t itch as much. My mother would scream if we dared scratch our faces. We were warned about the gross, ugly scars we’d have if we scratched.

Few kids were ever absent from school. One girl had surgery in the fifth grade, and it was such a singular event I still remember. Her name was Catherine. I don’t remember why she had surgery, but the nuns were really nice to her when she came back.

During high school you never wanted to miss a day. Two broken legs would mean dragging yourself to school because missing even one day meant missing tons of work which had to be made up. I used to argue with my mother that I wasn’t sick when she’d insist I needed to stay home. I did get sent home from high school once. I had the German measles which was going around. We went to school every day on the public bus so that’s how I went home, probably spreading German measles to the world. My mother didn’t drive then so the bus was it. I couldn’t stay in school. I remember it was a Friday. The reason I remember is there was a dance that night at the school, and I was stuck home. It made being sick even more miserable.

 

“Home is everything you can walk to.”

January 25, 2013

Okay, I’ve been up since before 5 o’clock. I think that’s about when the cough medicine stopped working, and once I start coughing, going back to sleep is out of the question. Another mouse found its way into my trap last night so it and I will take a ride later as I have to go out anyway. For some strange reason the cats want to eat every day, and I gave them their last can this morning. I should have trained them better. My trunk is filled with trash, but I hesitate going to the dump as even on pleasant days it’s cold. I’m not telling Gracie.

Stuck in the house is boring. Ordinarily I’d never mind staying home but being forced to stay inside changes the whole perspective. Chosen sloth days are gifts. Sick sloth days are not. I am stooping to watch the Military Channel about Okinawa as nothing else is on. The news at 5:30 is the same as the news at 5 o’clock which will then be repeated at 6.

I watched The Brink’s Job a few weeks back because my town has a scene. The film was made in 1978, and they chose Stoneham Square because it looked just like a town from the 1950’s, as if time had stood still. The police box was in the middle of the square, and Finnegan’s Men’s Store was still there. The thieves went inside the store and bought themselves some new duds. In those days up-town was a vibrant place filled with stores. In time, the stores closed. The police box got hit by a car and was destroyed. A replica of it was build but was erected off the road, more as a memorial than anything. Finnegan’s is a liquor store or was the last time I noticed.

Up-town has become a destination again. Part of it is revitalized. The movie theater is now live theater, an Indian restaurant graces the spot where the Children’s Corner used to stand, and Felicia’s, a great restaurant, is where the fish market stood. The deli is still on the corner and still makes great subs. I like to drive through the square when I visit my sister then I take the same route I used to when I was a kid: pass the fire station, the town hall, the church, my elementary school then all the way to my old house. I notice what has changed and remember what used to be. It’s nostalgic, not sad.