I am one wild and crazy gal. Sitting here in my bed at 11 on a Saturday night, I’m starting to think maybe blondes do have more fun. I guess it bears mentioning that I am a brunette now. And strangely enough, as a brunette, I have had only two or three truly fun nights, including New Year’s Eve and the Gator game last Monday. Statistically, it’s not looking good for the brown hair. I’ll give it six months and then re-evaluate.
In fairness, it’s not the brown hair’s fault that I’ve come down with a nifty conglomeration of bird flu, whooping cough and SARS. On Wednesday, just as the feeling of being brutally stabbed in both legs by personal trainer Franka had subsided, I started coughing… just a bit, nothing to worry about. That is, until I tried to go to sleep. Fuggettaboutit. I realized this would be no ordinary cold. No, this was war.
I can’t begin to impart how horrible it was Wednesday through Friday night… even Erin heard me from her room. My door was closed, her door was closed, we live on different floors, on opposite sides of the apartment and between us is the Living Room of Royal Ruckus, which features the soothing sounds of jackhammers banging around within the walls. But she still heard me and shared via text message, “I thought that was you coughing up your lungs last night.”
My condition deteriorated rapidly Friday at work, and I only made it a few hours in the office before I bailed. I ever so slowly trudged back to the apartment. After all, I had strained a muscle in my stomach from coughing the night before and I needed to take it easy.
Friday night really slayed me. Early Saturday morning, when I tried to sit up in bed, I winced in agony. I had pulled yet another muscle, this time on my left side and this time, much worse. Not only could I not sit up in bed, I also couldn’t cough or sneeze without grabbing my stomach and screaming. Very attractive for a girl who was headed over to the Fox News studios for a client segment on live TV… oh, did I mention that? At 7 a.m., I was walking through Times Square on my way to help out our Chicago office and one of its clients on Fox & Friends. The good news: I was on national TV. The bad news: I’d sneeze and suddenly my face would contort like I’d been hit in the stomach repeatedly with a crowbar… come to think of it, I felt like I’d been hit in the stomach with a crowbar. Very pretty. Way to be discovered. Superstar!
I went to the doctor after the Fox segment. After waiting for two hours in the reception area, Dr. McObvious told me I have a cold/bronchitis or something. He prescribed rest, liquids and asthma medication to help me stop coughing… though it hasn’t kicked in yet. Right now I’m trying not to breathe too deeply, or laugh or talk, because it makes me start coughing and then I double over and scream. And if a sneeze comes on, I just plug my nose until it passes. So yeah, I guess you could say it’s a pretty good Saturday night.
Of course you’re alright. You’re alive.
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