So, I have a Death Cough ailement.
Moist gooey lumps of proto-matter are being painfully wretched from my core. This reminds me of a story.
4 years ago, I got a nasty bronchitis infection. As a REAL MAN, I just kept on keeping on, confident that my antibodies would triumph over the invading spore and handily return home from battle to marry the comely antibody-ess next door. After two months of raging conflict, where the battle lines moved back and forth from Wellness to Death’s Door, a co-worker who notice the wheezing rattle of my impending demise forcefully encouraged me to go to my local sawbones.
I relented. My Doctor is an affible fellow, who after devining my present state advised me that had I waited another day or two he would have me in the hospital for two weeks. You see, I had allowed the lung infection to fester and become “That Which Can Kill You”. He asked why I waited so long, and I replied “Well, it seemed like it got better, then it got worse…back and forth. I thought it would just go away eventually.”
To which my Doctor replied “Brian, you’re not 28 anymore. These things don’t just ‘go away’. They kill you.”
That was the moment where I realized my true mortality. Even if I am careful…even if I never jump out of a plane with a parachute or go skiing or cave diving… age will still weaken me till something trivial lays me low.
So, I now have Death Cough 2.0.
The SheGan wanted me to call the Sawbones this morning, to get in right away. “Nah…” I said. “Let’s see how I feel by Monday.”
*Coughs violently*
This is how I ride…