I have the cold from hell.
It hit me Tuesday night in the space of an hour. Wednesday morning I was a snotty, dribbly, coughy mess and spent all day in bed or under my doona on the couch watching daytime crapvision. By 11pm however I was feeling much better and thought that was it.
Ahh, but that would be too simple. Since then the damn thing´s been holding on like a tenacious police dog with teeth firmly embedded in the buttocks of a G8 protestor. It´s moved into my chest and set me coughing which, as anyone who knows me in real life is aware, is a tragic state of affairs. A bout of croup as a youngster and a hospital stay which has scarred me for life about being bathed by strangers, ensured that when I cough I sound like a seal being clubbed to death.
Only not as melodic.
I lay in bed last night for an hour and a half coughing like that. Poor DrH lay beside me and didn´t complain. He got up and brought me glasses of water and extra cough lollies. He asked me if he should belt me between the shoulders. I said No. But the thought was there. Eventually I managed to suppress the coughing long enough to get to sleep.
This morning I woke up and I was spread across the bed, the extra pillows I´d demanded in the wee hours taking up most of the space and DrH curled onto his side with about 15cm of room. The poor man. The things you have to put up with with a sick wife.
If this keeps going I´ll start coughing up blood again. And we really don´t want that to happen.