I returned from Chicago with what I thought was bronchitis, but it turned out to be fairly severe asthma.
The day after I got home, I saw my doctor and got some medication, and was doing pretty well 'till a cold caught up with me--my second in 10 days, thanks largely to airplane air--and knocked me back some Thursday.
I likely would have been ok, but I was also scheduled to work the Giants/Padres game Friday night, and, well, there was no way I was going to miss that.
Unfortunately by the time I got home, my lungs and body were, as Dave Edmunds might say, "crawling from the wreckage." By Saturday morning, I could not breathe so well, but I had to stay home and watch the Giants try to beat the Padres that day, right?
Wrong, though I did.
By the time I went to the drop-in clinic after the game Saturday, they pushed me down to the ER, where I got four hours of treatment, and was sent home. Sadly, an hour later I was back, in worse shape, and as a result I spent the time from Saturday night to Tuesday afternoon in the hospital.
Oddly, once I began to feel better, I was as happy as a clam. If you have ever survived near suffocation--and I am told I was close--well, the prospect of living a few more days or weeks or years is simply wonderful.
By Sunday morning I was pretty weak, but was also sitting on a bed in the hospital, watching the Yankees and the Red Sox, awaiting the Giants next attempt. Of course a bunch of my friends called, and said, "how horrible." All I could note was that a week earlier, I was in Chicago, watching football with my mates at Buffalo Wild Wings, having beer and food delivered by the wait staff.
This week I was sitting in bed, watching football, and the nurses were bringing me meds and food, so the only real differences were the location and that my friends were absent (although harsh words for TBS, who should have televised the Giants game which was important, as opposed to the Yankees, which was not).
Since I took the rest of the week off, I was prone on the couch Wednesday, ready for the orgy of three ball games. Of course it started with the Rangers fun win over the Rays. And of course I want the Rangers to win, as their manager, Ron Washington, is one of my better friends in the baseball universe.
I had some lunch, and dozed off on the couch as the Phils and Reds went at it, waking up in the third with a 4-0 Phillies lead. "Dull," I thought to myself, until I saw Roy Halladay had not only not allowed a hit, but whose stuff was electric that night.
Of course we all know the rest: Halladay did walk a runner, but threw a no-no, and all that left me feeling pretty good and happy about the previous few days, no matter how difficult.
I did then watch the Yankees and Twins, and after that the great movie, The Third Man came on TCM, and to that I drifted off to sleep, back snuggled up with the dogs, safe and sound in my own home and bed.
Life does indeed throw us loops, no question. But, well, I have no complaints at all. Sickness or not, the day, and even the week turned out nearly perfect.
If you don't believe me, ask Roy Halladay, and look at his stat line.