Coughing is the new me.
Or pneumonia is.
Funny. I thought pneumonia was for hospitals and old dying folk. Taking us gentle into the final night.
And here it actually is: a feverish, walking, talking, fucking sore, rattling and wracking gut-wrenching cough; requiring steroids and antibiotics that give you the shakes and the runs; sucking on inhaler spacers every hour.
I am struggling with it. Every breath is a temptation to fold into spasms of rumbling rattling coughing.
Yes. I am struggling and I am seriously pissed off. And I am fucking fighting this.
I mean: for fuck sake. What the fuck?
The new job starts on Monday – and the cough has so far seen off two 5 day courses of prednisolone (40mg); 2 week long courses of antibiotic and two ventolin inhalers.
My medical bro says I need hospital and x-rays – and I say ‘just one more day… it might be gone…’ He is frustrated with me – and I am avoiding him. And I am pushing myself to do stuff.
Like pissing off my old employer by spending the last month of my notice intermittently calling in to say I was too feverish and sore to work – and then turning up at meetings and to the office as I tried to ‘finish stuff’.
Now I am actually finished with the old job.
I am technically between jobs for all of two days.
Between jobs – and worrying about being well enough for Monday because, ffs, we all know that you just can’t phone in sick on your first day.
You really just can’t.