Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

The Twelve Days of Mucous

I have been sick in bed for twelve days.
But unlike the Twelve days of Christmas,
I didn’t get a Partridge in a pear tree,
or seven swans a swimming,
or five golden rings,
or even one lousy drummer drumming.
All I got was hot tea,
Mucinex,
throat lozenges,
anti-biotics,
miso soup,
and a trip to the doctor.
If you had told me twelve days ago
when the first tinge of this sore throat appeared,
that I would still be sick twelve days later,
I would have said “you’re nuts.”
Bur here I am
fighting off bronchitis now
and an onslaught of mucous
that is as never ending as those crappy Christmas carols they pipe in at the mall.
Each day I wake up
expecting to be well,
and each day I feel no better
than the day before.
I have been stuck inside this house for twelve days
except for two trips to the gym
to sit in the steam room
to open up my lungs,
and one trip
to the doctor,
which was a complete waste of time.
I wish those two turtle doves would show up soon.