Posted on September 21, 2003 in Pulmonary
How’s my cold, you ask? It’s struggling a bit against the barrage of medicines that I have flung at it, but the little beasties causing this misery of mine are enjoying themselves by stimulating my sinuses to drip post-nasally, burning my throat, and causing my bronchial tree to drop about half of its leaves in preparation for autumn. What great weather it thinks we’re having, but then a cold always makes itself at home regardless of the season. Somewhere it waited for me — perhaps on a doorknob, perhaps on a piece of poorly washed silverware, perhaps on some food someone sneezed on.
It’s doing fine. It likes it inside of me. Please wish it the worst of luck in the days to come.