After one more IV bag full of medication pumped into me I was released from the hospital early Saturday morning. Though my throat ripping dry cough had now changed overnight to a looser one it still hurt to swallow.
My plan was to put the event of my sleepover in the ICU behind me and get on with my day as I filled a prescription for medication which would assist my airways to remain open.
The dry cough continued to change to a wet deep hack as the hours passed and I tried to minimize it as I packed up supplies fully intending to attend an all-day outside art event the next day.
My nose alternately plugged and then began releasing copious amounts of fluid and the barking coughs came in shorter intervals but lasting longer. It reminded me of being in labor, the longer it went on, the harder it became to concentrate on anything else.
It was predicted to rain so my brain adjusted slightly in its denial mode to throw an umbrella into the supply bag. Really. I fantasized how I would draw, paint and create memories with my favorite painter friend that I had convinced to join me in the art venture.
With the raspy voice I had remaining my hubby was informed that I was confused by my symptoms. Again. I’d had much confusion over the previous several days since the introduction of the prescription nasal spray and its negative effect my throat.
As hubby is prone to do, he acknowledged my pondering and concern then carried on with his own activities. I recall his presence, at the computer, in and out of the house, hovering nearby yet staying in the safe zone of the marriage, not telling me I should consider cancelling my next days activities.
Questions and conversations whirled around in my stuffed head; was all the medication pumped into my system throughout my night in the emergency ward and then ICU making this congestion happen?
Did I pick up some bacteria and was it now being released in my bloodstream?
Was I getting a horrendous cold? And, what did the specialist mean – Vocal Cord Dysfunction?
Sheesh. I’d had enough family dysfunction over my lifetime, more did not need to be created for me to deal with. And, why was the weather changing? I had plans.
With my art bag all packed for the next day, I continued to layer on more clothing while my temperature rose and the chills prickled and settled over my shoulders, neck, arms and down my back.
Pain pills brought relief for a couple of hours at a time. Swallowing was a necessary evil.
I surrendered and went to bed. There I stayed, coughed, retched, took pills, wept and blew my way through several boxes of tissues for the next five days.