The actual flu only lasted a few days after my return from Way Out West, but the nasty, persistent, productive cough lingered on. And on. And on...
"When are you going to the doctor with that?" asked Bobbi.
Yesterday morning, a particularly deep cough left me feeling like I'd pulled an oblique muscle in my tummy, so I went to the doc-in-the-box, or rather the nurse-practitioner-in-the-box, to be told what I already knew: I had a cough. No fever, no raging infection, just irritated lungs and a case of acute bronchitis.
I got a bottle of cough syrup and a prescription for one of those inhaler things like the frail kid had in school and went home. And here we are.