(I’m sure you all wanted to hear that)
Unfortunately, I am cursed with an predilection for lung problems — in particular BRONCHITIS.
For as long as I can remember, I have the dreadful bug at least twice a year. Since I lived in a black-mold infested dive for two years, I find myself hacking up my lungs more than twice a year.
So yippee, I wake up this morning with a sore throat and my lungs and sinuses feeling as if they were filled with slops of oatmeal.
Now, I could go to the doctor and shell out a copay for him to put me on antibiotics — that don’t always work — and prescribe me this lung steroid that gives me ‘roid rage. We are talking no sleep, devouring slabs of beef, sweating profusely, and bitching at everyone. No ma’am. I don’t think I could handle that right now.
So onto the interwebs I went this morning to search for “natural” bronchitis cures.
Cure #1: Sweat it out.
No problem. Hope and I went out to the pool for 4 hours. I brought a quart of water and laid in the sun drowsing and sweating. I felt better for a while and then I realized that I forgot to put sunscreen on the BACK OF MY THIGHS. Great, now the back of my thighs are bright red and beginning to blister. Geez-fucking-Louise.
Cure #2: Drink tea.
I had hot lemon green tea with honey this morning and am drinking a chai latte right now at the perk. My throat feels a bit better, but I’m still full of mucus.
Cure #3: Soup
Apparently chicken broth, onions, and garlic are most effective when attempting to battle bronchitis. I’m off to Wal-mart in a bit to get ingredients and then I am making homemade soup. Based on what I read, I need to go crazy with onions and garlic; my breath needs to frighten the piss out of vampires.
There we have it. I have to work tomorrow, but I’m hoping that I will be feeling better by tomorrow evening.
I hope that I’m not going to have to resort to this:
A Note: It has been suggested by a few of my friends that Inky Darcy should come take care of me while I’m ill. No my friends. It is far too soon for that. I’m still at the stage where I keep my legs shaved and he thinks I never have gas. I wouldn’t want him to see me sweaty and hacking on the couch surround by tissues. That certainly isn’t sexy.