Sunday, September 22, 2013

Cough City

I've been sick.  Like dog.

What started as a dry cough pre-Bangladesh, continued into a real-deal cough that had me stepping out of meetings and away from others during my time in Dhaka and Shanghai.  I came home thinking that the clean Swedish air would ease my respiratory distress.  But no.  The Swedish doctor gave a line about if it hadn't killed me yet it wasn't going to and if I could do without the antibiotics, I should.

Except that the cough persisted--got worse, even--until I found myself in Paris for another work trip, barely able to get around without coughing/wheezing/gagging.

Ugh.  Talk about the worst timing, ever.  By the time I got to Paris, I was on 5 weeks of coughing.  5 WEEKS.

It's bad enough to be laid up in Paris just because it's Paris and there is so much to do and see and it's my favorite place in the world.  But I was there for work.  I felt so desperate to get moving.  And I definitely couldn't miss the fabric shows.  So I used the SOS Medecins service, wherein a (nice-smelling) doctor (in fancy shoes) was dispatched to my hotel room, only to tell me I had bronchitis (le bronchite, everything sounds better in French) and prescribe me some drugs.  A couple days of prednisone (yuck) and amoxicillin and I was starting to feel better, thankfully.  But I was never really functioning at more than 60%.  And there was, like, no wine for me.  BOO.  I blame that wimpy Swedish doctor for not insisting on the antibiotics earlier.  I know antibiotics are the devil but if I come in telling you I've been coughing for over 4 weeks...