Let Tomorrow Come

My poor little guy. This cough just won't let him get to sleep. The cold, whatever it is, and the Zithromax to fight it (whatever it is), and the thousands of coughs one after the other every five seconds or ten seconds without fail a cascade of coughs wracking his body ... and the hundreds of blows of the nose ... it's all worn him down. He's been a trooper all day, not complaining, not whining, just trying to get through it, happy to laugh at the Penguins despite the misery. I thought about getting on the trainer this afternoon when he was indulging in a little SpongeBob, but I just couldn't muster the enthusiasm. It seemed wrong to be working out when he was so sick. Oh, and he's been sick before. We've dealt with 104 temps, with barfing, with all manner of virus and bacteria. But this sucker, with the nonstop coughing: when I said thousands of coughs I didn't mean that metaphorically, I meant that literally, and the number is probably several thousand. They thought it was pneumonia, that's why they gave him the Zithromax. But the chest x-ray came up negative, which I guess is good, but now we don't know what it is. Of course, I read about a study that said 21 percent of pneumonia cases don't show up in a chest x-ray. Well. Time, the great healer. Tomorrow a new day. (In the distance, a cough, drats.)

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