Sick of Being Sick

I tell you, this is the last time I don't fill a prescription right away!

I saw my doctor on April 1st, before the Easter Long Weekend, about this cough I've had for a month. It had escalated to some kind of flu during that week and I was afraid I had pneumonia of some sort. I was told my chest is ok, and given a puffer to use for a couple of weeks (it was a trial size, good for a month) and that I should be able to continue running with this.

And she gave me a prescription for antibiotics, should I eventually get (TMI....) gross-tasting, thicker phlegm. Being so straight-laced and having a penchant to listening to instructions really well, I pocketed the prescription, hoping I wouldn't have to fill it.

Well, the Long Weekend came and went, with a few people encouraging me to just fill the prescription, just in case. I know, I said, but never did. Well, last week I did really want to fill it, but now I realized I lost the bloody prescription!

And so the story goes...

I'm hacking away, coughing like there's no tomorrow, the phlegm coughing itself up, not quite making itself out, then back down where it will attempt to inhibit my breathing again at the most in-opportunistic time.

I've hunted high and low for that piece of paper, which I remember I folded in quarters, stuffing it into different pairs of jeans that first weekend, at the hopes I would pass by a pharmacy and be willing to fill it. Laundry's been checked, my bag and wallet taken apart. my jackets' pockets emptied: nothing.

Just sick of being sick!