Isn't this the way?

Isn't this the way?

You get sick, you don't go to the doctor, you start to feel better after a few days, then you get hit with a recurring cough. After a week of this, you get tired of coughing, and you finally go to a doctor.

And they tell you that they want you to tough it out.

No medicine. No anti-biotics. You have what the doc terms a "post-bronchitic cough" (she actually used the qualifier, "Well, I'm going to call it a--" when imparting this to me). And then you get shuffled out the door to face the 15-degree Wisconsin winter alone. Well, not alone. You've got that cough at your side. Or in your lungs.

So, I am coughing, coughing, coughing. My stepmother is up in arms and worried about me, my grandmother is worried about me, and I now have to greet every long-distant relation and neighbor with a hand over my mouth trying to block the cacophonous rasp that shoots out anytime I even think of breathing. Not to mention that I lose my voice every three sentences.
My uncle Brian probably thinks I have lost my usual sense of humor, so quiet was I at our extended lunch on Thursday.

It is the quietest I have ever been, either in Wisconsin or anywhere.

Maybe everyone secretly likes it. Hell, I won't be surprised if they openly like it.


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