Day 7

Day 7 of what my doctor deemed an upper respiratory bacterial infection. No fancy “something-or-other-itis”. Just a run-of-the-mill, no-name infection.

The homemade chicken soup was hot but ineffective. Gymnastika, an unpleasant Russian regimen of alternating facial massage and snorting cold water up my nose, only temporarily relieved the congestion in the most painfully annoying manner I can imagine. Nyquil is mind-numbingly pleasant, but it leaves me with the guilty feeling I should check into rehab. “Hi, my name is Wayland and I’m a…I’m a…I…can’t remember what I am.”

It’s time for more drastic measures. Azithromycin, one of the many miracles of modern medicine. Fancy name for a man-made pill devised to combat a nameless bacterial infection. But oh well, let the Z-Pack begin.

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