The Chinese are calling this the year of the dragon, but they're wrong. It's the year of the pneumococcal bacteria. At least around our house anyway. Just two months after Papa T. spent eighteen days in the hospital with pneumonia, Hubby has walking pneumonia, oh yes he does. To the tune of four prescriptions and a shot in the butt. A shot which apparently was a little painful given the current tenderness of his backside. Funny, he didn't think it was very humorous when I made a joke about him being a pain in the arse. The doctor wanted to put him in the hospital yesterday, but Hubby politely declined with the promise to get a chest X-ray Thursday and to consider the hospital if things have not improved by then. Or if Papa T. stomps on his last nerve one more time. Whichever comes first. When Hubby called me with the news yesterday, I rolled my eyes toward heaven and said, "Really?" Great googly moogly. We can't have everyone around here healthy at one time for more than thirty days at a time. It's enough to make a gal wanna hibernate until cold and flu season is over. Or the next Matthew McConaughey centerfold is published. Whichever comes first.
I knew we were gonna have sinus issues the minute we landed in Nashville last week and realized just how annoying it can be to go from the 80 degree tropics to a 30 degree climate. The pressure in my head started soaring as soon as our plane hit the ground. I went into neti pot overdrive, and Hubby developed a stopped up nose almost immediately. It took about three days for his cough to develop, and it's been downhill since then. The poor man is coughing like a forty year chain smoker. He sounds like that lady who works the shoe counter at the bowling alley whose diet is mostly whiskey sours and Marlboro's. I knew he felt bad Sunday when he actually mentioned he was going to the doctor Monday if he didn't feel any better. His willingness to go to a doctor is the equivalent of Israel calling up Palestine and saying, "Can't we just get along?" In fact, I thought about calling an ambulance then 'cause he was obviously hitting a low point. For as long as I've known him, he has NEVER willingly gone to the doctor. It's always been by force. I think Papa T.'s pneumonia showed him though, that things can go south very quickly and it's best to take care of yourself instead of trying to tough it out. Because, hey, after age fifty, toughing it out doesn't really work so well without a few antibiotics.
So, for the next couple of days he plans to take his medicine and see what happens. I'm hoping the drugs do the trick, and he doesn't end up in the hospital 'cause I'm not namin' any names, but someone around here is C-R-A-N-K-Y when he's really sick. As in gripe and groan and whine to the nth degree cranky. I feel bad for him because no doubt the exhaustion he feels on a daily basis from taking care of Papa T. was a factor in his illness, and there's no letup in sight on that front. He has enough to deal with without being sick. Poor baby. And let's hope that mess isn't catching. That's all I need is a week in bed. Although, I'm only one case of flu away from my goal weight. Just kidding. Sort of. No, really, I'm kidding.
The year of the dragon is supposed to be a lucky year. Let's hope 2012 is a little better for us than 2011. And may it be full of eggrolls. And shrimp fried rice. And pressed chicken. May the year be full of blessings for everyone, including good health. Or a Matthew McConaughey centerfold. Whichever comes first.
Psst...I was born in the year of the dragon. In fact, I'm a wooden dragon. If you have time, read this article about dragon babies. Yikes, it fits me to a tee. Right down to the Miss Bossy Pants part.
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