(photo by Dan Kibke)
Back to St. Paul's at midnight last night, coughin' green along the way. I started choking on my phlegm when I lay down to try to sleep, and it was the last straw. Cops everywhere in the emergency ward - sounded like someone had freaked out. Thankfully, tho', the staff were a little less chilly - likely 'cos the guy who helped me out was a fey gay man who was having a fair bit of fun with my delirious babble (he practically made a little ballet out of taking my blood pressure and temperature).
The diagnosis: acute bronchitis. And finally, here come the antibiotics: two 250 mg caplets of Azithromycin, which is such a strong dose that by time I fulfill my scrip for the rest and get home, I have explosive diarrhea (which usually takes about a week's worth of decimated gut flora to arrive). Poor sleep, migraine on waking (still probably related to caffeine withdrawal), and more phlegm to spew: let it be said for once and all that diarrhea and coughing spasms are a VERY BAD COMBINATION. Then, alas, I have more errands I gotta run - including prepping for a sub for my afternoon class. I finally get home, fire off a few emails, feeling dizzy and delirious and slightly high from the stress of it all - I can't stop working, once I get like this, even tho' I sorely need to just crash. And then I chance upon the Wikipedia entry for pulmonary edema, which doesn't scare me until I get to the part about frequent urination as a symptom. I've been peeing every fifteen minutes, on some days of this illness.
Ah, well. At least it's being treated.
It's time to crash. Tonight's intended movie: The Gospel According to St. Matthew, by Pasolini. (Bought it along with Race with the Devil).
Acid Mothers on Friday.
Noise Fest on Saturday.
God, I hope I'm healthy.