I passed by the mirror and there appeared a vision resembling W.C. Fields in drag. It had a large bulbous red nose and baggy eyes. Its hair resembled the mop that Crazy Eyes talks to on oitnb (Orange is the New Black). Closer observation revealed the vision was me—day four of THE UNCOMMON COLD.
Day one: Noted slight tickling sensation in the back of the throat. Evening ration of adult beverage quelled tickling sensation. No further attention required.
Day two: Throat felt like I had swallowed a bucket of rusty nails followed by a kerosene chaser. Favorite coffee beans yielded beverage that tasted like Worcestershire sauce gone bad. Evening ration of adult beverage downgraded to surefire cure of turmeric and garlic soup.
Day three: Early morning wake up due to lack of oxygen. Sore throat is gone; replaced by totally blocked nasal passages. Turmeric and garlic soup tossed down garbage disposer. Hang head over steaming teakettle. Gasping for air; head to shower to steam; mixed results. Resigned to spending day with neti pot and Vicks.
Day four: Two AM wake up due to lack of oxygen accompanied by wracking cough. This cough brings new meaning to having one’s lungs turned inside out. Three childbirths and two root canals pale in comparison to the agony of this cough. I am certain in the annals of coughing no one has ever experienced this degree of cough pain. Whoever said, “Things look darkest just before dawn”, flat out lied. By dawn, my outlook turned darker – my chest felt like demons had used it for a punching bag.
Hubby moved to the other bedroom. The cat refused to look at me as she drug her scratching post to the darkest remote corner of the house.
Medical science can treat STD’S in nanoseconds. A heart attack can be diagnosed in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. It’s 2015 and there is no cure for the UNCOMMON COLD.
Categories: Biased, Unbalanced and Politically Incorrect
I am a lifelong Southerner, short story author, and essayist. Home is Dallas, Texas.
My essays have appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, The Dead Mule School of Southern Writing.