After 6.5 hours in the ER, complete with EKG, nebulizer treatment, a huge honking prednisone pill, and an X-ray, that's the prognosis. I have a seven day antibiotic prescription (so we can hope it's bacterial and not viral), and an undoubtedly huge honking bill, only part of which will be paid by Medicare. Go, me.
Still, it's not flu and it's not COVID, both of which they tested me for - gotta love those nasal swabs - which is a not-so-small silver lining.
I went to bed with loads of Vicks on my chest, partly because it apparently can temporarily cut constant coughing (which I was doing) and partly because of its emotional comfort value; when I was a child, my mother and Nana used Vicks on me to make me feel better.
It's been years since I had pneumonia. My brother and I got it annually, regular as clockwork, but I think this is the first time I've had it since I moved to Chicago.
"A bit of pneumonia". That's how one of the doctor's described it. As someone else said to me last night, "that's like being a bit pregnant, isn't it?"
I'm exhausted. Quel surprise.
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