I’ve been sick for almost a month now. That hasn’t exactly helped with my love for this country, even though I know it’s not at fault. I’d been surviving on 800mg of Motrin every 6 hours and then I ran out and had to wait 24 hours for my Costco-size replacement bottle to come in the mail. (I had ordered in anticipation of running out and then lost in a game of Amazon Chicken when my package was delayed).
So happy. Yes, they have ibuprofen here, but I would have to look up the British name and go to a pharmacy (they don’t have over the counter medicines in grocery stores) and I was feeling lazy. And I resist taking unknown brands of medicine when possible. All the stuff I write about nutty Camille? Apple, meet Tree.
So now I’m stocked up with my favorite brand of Motrin, which I need because I coughed myself into some crazy rib pain that is either a pulled/torn ligament or pleurisy (thanks, Dr. Google). Whatever it is, it hurts like someone is stabbing me in the side if I move too fast or breathe too deeply.
On the bright side, I’ve gone from coughing until I pee to just coughing and grabbing my side in pain.
Josh made me go to the medical clinic where they gave me a breathing treatment to try and clear the wheeziness out of my lungs. I wasn’t a fan.
I sat in the office, sucking on a plastic pipe full of mystery medicine while this label on a supply cart stared back at me. Yep, that about sums it up.
After all that, the only thing that is going to help is Motrin and time — same as the past 3 weeks. It’s sad, but also funny as I move around the house mumbling, “ow. ow. ow. cough-OUCH!” every few minutes. I don’t get sick very often, but when I do, I go all in.