A friend of mine in whose office I volunteer several hours per week, came in for about 9 days straight coughing and hacking and sounding just awful. Her colleague and I both encouraged her to go to the doctor and get antibiotics. It was obviously bronchitis.
Fast-forward 2 weeks. I have it now. No one else I know has it or has had it. I stayed on my couch for 2 days straight (with the exception of hauling teenagers from campus to campus) and then went back in to assist with a letter of appreciation and she called me “Typhoid Mary.” Excuse me? Hmmmm.
I could not possibly have caught this crap at a worse time. We don’t have health insurance and our indigent service at a local hospital had run out (because I couldn’t remember what month to renew it.) Anyway, I’ve since reapplied and am waiting for approval but so far, I continue to hack my lungs up which pisses off my Autistic daughter who has hyper-sensitive hearing and she yells, “STOP THAT COUGHING!” because my cough hurts her ears terribly.
Being that I have that hallowed name “Mom,” I’m apparently also a superhero, who, in lieu of a cape, comes with set of car keys and a spatula and the super secret code that starts the washing machine. My supermemory power leaves me in charge of finding phone chargers, backpacks, hair scrunchies, the shoes “you know, that I wore last week?” and the lyrics to every rock, pop, or rap song that was played on the radio from 1977-2004. Unlike Dads, I don’t get sick days where the world stops due to a cold or worse, a hangnail. Dishes still need washing, groceries still need purchasing (and on a shoestring budget), dinners still need cooking, and bills still need paying (see: remainder of shoestring budget.)
I’m catching sleep and delegating authority as I can, without giving away my secret identity (frizzy-haired woman with graying roots, corduroy marks on her face where she passed out on the couch after accidentally taking too much cold medicine, and really bad breath because the toothpaste ran out 2 days ago and she can’t remember, or give a shit, to buy more.) One of these MOFOs in this house is going to have to take a walk to the grocery store a mile from the house and stand through the terribly loud mariachi music on the PA and buy some more 88 cent Pepsodent because I just CAN’T, y’all. Also, they’ll need to buy more pads because we’re out because I’ve been using them as incontinence pads due to all this coughing. Thanks.