For one week, I have been coughing my lungs out. Clearing the throat is also a tedious process, especially when you’re trying to spit out/swallow/dislodge that stubborn bit of phlegm stuck somewhere along your neck. Each a-heck! a-heck! brings terrible images of carnage on your vocal cords; your voice grates and you can’t even sing in peace in the bathroom. Breathing has been reduced to shallow gasps of air—a generous dose of oxygen sets off another series of hacking coughs.
The only good thing was that each time I coughed, I literally could feel the muscles in my upper abs getting a workout. Maybe the meds made me delusional, but I do think they felt firmer too. Of course, this observation excited me to no end, causing me to breathe more hurriedly, and yes, cough more.
So it’s with mixed feelings that I say, I think I’m getting better now. And since bumming around, damn, that evil flab is making a comeback in record time.