Last night was pretty much the same as the past week and a half: I woke myself up coughing approximately every hour or two. I’m starting to feel like I’m losing my mind from sleep deprivation. I called my doctor’s office this morning, and told them that they either had to fit me in or I was going to the ER. They fit me in. Not my usual doctor, but I really wasn’t in the mood to nitpick.
The verdict: first, I don’t have pink eye. (For you Brits who don’t know what it is, here you go.) I think I overreacted when I woke up one morning and my eyes were excessively goopy, but they’ve been clear and non-itchy ever since then, so it appears that I’m fine. At least in that department.
As for the cough, the doctor said, “it’s just bronchitis.” Yeah, no sh*t, Einstein. I told him that I haven’t had it this bad since I was a kid, but back then (according to my mom, who of course, knows everything), the doctor would usually give me a shot of some kind of steroid (decadron, I think), and it would at least make the coughing spasm part better. He seemed appalled that anyone would give me a shot of steroids, because it has so many dangerous side effects. I guess doctors are a bit more free-dispensing with the drugs in Mississippi. Who’d have thunk it? Damn lawsuit-happy west coast.
So instead, he gave me a prescription for nine days’ worth of prednisone. It’s basically the same thing as the shot, just spread out rather than a one-off. If I remember the side effects correctly (and I’m quite sure I do), that means nine days of retaining water, eating everything in sight and puffing up like a balloon. Fun! It’s a good thing Dave took that whole “in sickness and in health” vow, because I have a feeling this (read: me) isn’t going to be pretty. Although honestly, if it helps, I’m so past any sense of vanity at this point, I just don’t even care.
And for the record, when I called my mom after the appointment and told her that the doctor wouldn’t give me the steroid shot? She was pissed. You don’t question my mom’s medical diagnoses. Because, as I’ve already mentioned, she knows everything. She wanted to call my doctor up herself and pull a Shirley MacLaine in “Terms of Endearment” on him. (“Give my daughter the SHOOOOOOOOOT!!!!”) She calmed down slightly when I told her that I got the pills instead. Crisis averted.
Oh, he also gave me some hardcore cough syrup (with codeine! yay!) which should knock me right the hell out at night. Here’s hoping.