I’ve never been a fan of getting sick. 

Probably because I don’t get really sick very often. Sure, I get a bug here and there. Maybe strep throat when the kiddos bring it home, but overall, I’m not a horribly sick person.

Until now. 

I think it started as the flu. Hit me a week ago on Friday night, at my daughter’s football game. I just couldn’t get warm. Saturday morning, when I got up to go to work, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. 

My husband thought I was exaggerating. 

Four days later, I wasn’t exaggerating. 

Coughing so hard, I couldn’t breathe, and I was (note — TMI ahead) I was releasing my bladder fully (or so it felt – thanks pregnancy!) so often, I had to order more underwear. I finally went to the doctor. 

It had settled into a lower respiratory infection, requiring steroids and antibiotics. Would it have gotten so bad had I gone to the doctor a couple days earlier? Not sure. 

I wasn’t sleeping. I could barely get an hour without trying to cough up a lung. 

But each day, it started to ease back. 

Flash forward to today. This morning, my husband gave me a kiss, and told me it was the first time I’d slept through the night without waking up coughing all night. 

Am I coughing today? Sure. I gotta get the crap out of my chest. But it’s not bright technicolored nasty anymore. It’s white. Which means it’s clearing out. 

So I’m getting better. 

Slowly. 

Being Sick Sucks
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