I had trouble propping myself up in bed last night, such that my lungs would work as designed, so I ended up retiring to the futon with Chester instead, where I fell asleep sitting up for a fair while. When I awoke, I still felt like I’d been beaten with a Buick, so I fished around for my doctor’s phone number and made an appointment for 6pm.
In the interim, I talked to Phil a little bit — he’s a wonderful guy, and goes so far out of his way to make me feel good about my mildly-broken work that it’s quite unbelievable — and then had a nap. When I woke at 5pm, ready to call a cab to hit the doctor’s, I noticed something strange. Something different. What’s this? I can breathe. I’m not coughing every ten seconds. Whoa, whoa, whoa, my nostils are useful.
Well, holy crap. I called the doctor back to reschedule my appointment to tomorrow — if I’m feeling even better then, then I don’t need to waste her time, though I really should get my prescription refilled soon; hmmm… — and she thanked me for not coming in if I was on the mend. It’s the little things, really.
Of course, I’m not yet “hey, anyone want to build a house?” better, or even, as we discovered today, “maybe I should check some code into the source tree right before our next milestone release!” better, but the derivative is positive, and I’m in a much better mood. I can take a bath without the steam sending me into body-wracking fits of coughing!
In fact, I think I’ll do that right now.
(Confidential to Asa: it seems I don’t have Mitchell’s bacterial thing — we compared symptoms on the phone today — but you’re a sweetie nonetheless. Thanks a lot.)