I marvel every day at my improved health. I don't take for granted that I can march from the second floor to the basement to throw a load of clothes in the washer, stop to feed the dog and cats on the first floor and still trek back to the second-floor bedroom without gasping for air. Just a month ago, I needed someone to serve me breakfast in bed.
But my cough - my deep, raspy hack - has not improved. It kicks into gear whether I'm lying still or walking or talking and leaves me feeling like a limp dishrag.
Worst of all, it's turned me into a social pariah. Most people, both friends and strangers, are kind and concerned, but I know I'm annoying. "Would a throat lozenge help?" strangers ask. "I wish it would," I reply, "but it doesn't, and I darned near choked on one." I do accept cups of water and snippets of advice. "I had pneumonia too, and I found that drinking the hottest liquid I could tolerate really helped." I'm willing to try anything.
I've discovered that a small percentage of the population can be downright mean. I left an 8-stop East LA Mexican food sampling event after the second venue because I was clearly agitating at least two other people in the group. And, of course, that made me so uncomfortable that I couldn't get out of the birrierias (goat restaurant) fast enough. Today I mouthed "I'm so sorry" to another library patron after a coughing jag, but she was as bitchy as a tough old goat.
I'm trying to balance consideration of others with my own needs to get out, but it's tricky, especially since I'm still without DSL service at home.
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