Well, here we sit again with yet another case of bronchitis. The good news is that it is not pneumonia like my husband has now. The bad news is that it is bad enough to have me stuck in bed fighting a never-ending, ever-deepening cough.
My husband had the distinct joy of getting sick first. Over 48 hours, he could feel it coming on, and then he developed a burning chest, cough and fever. He slept in our already contaminated room, while I tried to stay well by camping out on the living room couch. I tried to dodge his germs in vain.
A week later, our doctor declared his illness was pneumonia and soon after, my 48-hour warning began. So much for trying to stay well!
I had enough time for a couple of days last week while I still felt decent to get a boatload of work done behind a closed office door. I pasted a large Post-It Note on my glass office door that read “Enter at your own risk” with the letters “S-I-C-K” in the middle. By day 2, the post-it message read “S-I-C-K-E-R.”
Although it drew a few chuckles, for the most part my guest chair stayed empty, and I only saw the brief faces of those brave souls who poked their head slightly inside. The blessing? I got a lot done!
By the time the predicted 48 hours had passed, I had a full-blown whopping case of bronchitis and was at a Friday doctor’s appointment preemptively set the day before, coughing from the bottom of my toes to my stomach.
The treatment plan Friday included lots of steroids and antibiotics. Over the weekend, the coughing continued to deepen each day and I was pretty well down for the count. Yesterday morning I was back at the doctor for chest x-rays, lab work and new antibiotics.
So, here I lay in my bed with my Nook tablet PC, looking out the bedroom window at the lemons on the tree in my sunny yard beyond. Today, breathing, laughing, talking or moving are all nearly impossible, and I can’t really even blame my lupus.