It's Complicated

Hey! I'm still kickin'!

Last night I was miserable, despite dosing myself with the dregs of cough medicine from 2009. Its effectiveness wore off, and the night wore on. I called my mom to check in, which I do twice a day, whether she wants to talk to me or not. Makes me no nevermind if she is snugly ensconced in her recliner watching Mizzou basketball.

Mom was upset at my hoarseness. And possibly with my whining. I had no witty tales of Hick's shenanigans. In fact, I was feeling so low, down-in-the-dumps, under-the-weather, sub-par, down-for-the-count that a tiny sob escaped my throat.

Oh, dear. That was not the right thing to do. It was not a conscious decision. It just slipped out. Like, "Oh, f***!" from between the lips of a fireman at Art Hill, trying to pull a 200-lb. woman wearing a down coat out of the lake after a sledding incident. Mom began emitting tiny sobs. My own gained frequency. I told her I was going to hang up and get some rest. She said she would talk to me in the morning.

This morning, my expired cough medicine was a distant dream. My head hurt, my chest hurt, my cough was back, and I misery index was rising like heat waves over a new section of blacktop fresh out of the paver on a July highway. I called Mom to check in. "Oh, honey. I have been thinking about you all night. Is there anything I can do for you today?" Of course that made me sob. Which made Mom sob. Which made me sob harder. That conversation did not last long.

This morning I was ready. The minute my plan time rolled around, I called my doctor's office to request some proper cough medicine. That was the only time my cough was non-existent. If only I could bottle a doctor's office phone call, I could help more people go coughless than Hall's, codeine, and Robitussin.

The minute school was out, Mom called. "Are you all right? Can I pick up anything and bring it to you? Did you call the doctor?" I explained that I would be picking up medicine on the way home, and that even though he was presently unaware, Hick would be bringing home hot & sour soup to open up my head. I did not sob. I was better than yesterday at that time.

WAS. Until The Pony and I left school on the drive to the pharmacy. I hacked more than Anonymous. It felt like the top of my head was going to shoot off like the lid from an empty plastic water bottle when a freshman boy squeezes it until it explodes. My eyes bugged out like the eyes on one of those rubber eye-popper stress dolls. I needed a Depends more than a spurned astronaut traveling cross-country to confront her ex-lover's girlfriend.

The pharmacy parking lot was fuller than Takeru Kobayashi after Nathan's Famous July 4 International Hot Dog Eating Contest. As I fumbled for my debit card, the whole world passed in front of my Tahoe and entered the building. People were lined up to the door. Apparently, it was a good day for making one's mother sob. My prescription had been called in, but it was not ready. The technicians were forty minutes behind. They were not about to fill something for somebody not even filling up their store. Of course my car cough abated when I walked into the pharmacy. If only I could bottle a long wait in line for cough medicine at a pharmacy, I could compete with my other product on the market, the Doctor's Office Call Elixir. (I'm also flirting with the idea of a clothing line called Togs For the Emperor).

I sat down on the black faux leather couch made of chairs to wait. After about 15 minutes, my cough returned. Val had got her WHOOP back. It was all I could do not to mark that fine piece of furniture like Poppie marked Jerry's new white couch. Let's just say I did not look down when I got up. I'm hoping the little old lady that sat on my right hip was without her glasses. I took off for the counter when my name was called. My doctor had hooked me up with some Cheratussin. It doesn't hold a candle to Histinex, but it's better than four-year-old Iophen.

Mom was happy to hear from me when I got home. She said I sounded better already, even though I had not yet taken a dose. Nobody sobbed. I'm looking forward to feeling better.

Mom needs her rest.