Of the things I left unsaid and the regrets I'm yet to have
Report from the frontiers of patent medicine: cough syrup with codeine is not a perfect remedy in that I still woke at least twice in the night, coughing badly, and my chest and throat still felt bruised when I got up. On the other hand, I didn't get up until I had stayed in bed nearly eleven hours, the vast majority of which I was not conscious for. I dreamed of attending some kind of museum exhibition in D.C. with a friend group who mostly don't exist in real life—gold coins and sirens—but I said something I shouldn't have at dinner.
Tonight
spatch is for a wonder not working at the theater, so the plan is to eat ramen and see Stan & Ollie (2018) at the Coolidge. I feel absolutely useless. I am trying to divest wanting to see a movie from the weight of failing to write about anything, because I want the Protestant work ethic even less than I want TB.
Happy Candlemas. Have an invocation to St. Brigid: Emma Christian, "Vreeshey, Vreeshey."
Tonight
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Happy Candlemas. Have an invocation to St. Brigid: Emma Christian, "Vreeshey, Vreeshey."
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I appreciate the concern. I had whooping cough as an adolescent and it was nasty. I'm not making the characteristic sound, I was re-upped on my Tdap within the last year, and the doctor who saw—and heard—me on Friday felt solidly comfortable treating it as a viral cold with heavy congestion, nor did she suggest testing for whooping cough on the grounds that it was going around in the way that she double-checked for strep, however unlikely. If the illness worsens or does not respond or develops new symptoms, I will return to the doctor. There are other factors in play that make sense of the severity of the coughing for me.
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