Almost ten days ago, I woke up with a brick on top of my chest, and a lot of extra congestion. (Not a literal brick because I’m not in an episode of Burn Notice) Worried this could turn into something ugly pretty fast, I went to the doctor later in the day. She said, “You sound fine, your exam is clear…you have a viral infection, which could stick around for 1-2 weeks. Drink lots of water and increase your vitamin C. Call me if things get worse before the weekend.” To me, “viral” is the dirtiest word a doctor can say. Translated, it means “I can’t give you any drugs to make this things go away faster. Good luck as you fight your way through it!” Thanks for the pep talk, doc. I went to the pharmacy and got some over the counter meds my mom trusts for cold congestion, stocked up on Claritin D, and refilled my pantry with EmergenC packs and lemonade. Two days later, I called the doctor and left a message for the nurse in my newly acquired “I’ve smoked a pack a day for forty years” voice. Things had definitely gotten worse. Her nurse promptly called back for info on where to call in a prescription. It was a general antibiotic, and I’ve been taking it faithfully, along with Robitussin, Claritin, and EmergenC, and while the smoker’s cough is gone, I still sound like some crazy character in a B movie. Amanda says Kathleen Turner. Thanks, AT. Everyday I’m hopeful for a full recovery, and have planned a celebratory breakfast to congratulate my body (and maybe the meds) on winning the fight against the viral enemy. Today wasn’t the day…maybe tomorrow!