So, now the cold has flown away and it didn’t turn out to be Lyme’s Disease, MRSA, cancer, some weird air-borne tropical bacteria that eats the bones from the outside or even smallpox. It was just a cold. it was a nasty, miserable, soul draining, shit-eating cold, but just a cold all the same.
I mentioned on Facebook last week that I was under the weather and got some heart-warming best wishes and all the advice I will need for the next seven colds, a knee replacement, four rounds of nausea and a partridge in a pear tree.
I heard the exotic and the ordinary, got remedies from mom and the neighborhood witch doctor. Was told in no uncertain terms to “go to the damn doctor,” even though my doc is on leave and unavailable. “Well, get to the emergency room or a non-urgent care center NOW!” I was instructed.
Margie, of course, is a nurse and all of her training came to bear on me. Whatever she could imagine, I had. She scared hell out of me. I thought at one moment, “Hell, I might as well just go somewhere and die.”
One friend gave me her (well guarded secret) doc’s name and a recommendation, so I could penetrate the fortress. The doc is exactly what I want in a family physician if mine doesn’t return, so I wrote her a letter. No hurry. Just in case. That same friend gave me a honey recipe for MRSA, which she and Margie decided I have. I don’t, but the honey sounds good.
One rule that seems to hold true through all this: Colds last 10 days to two weeks. No matter what you do.