It all started with a cough. As with most sicknesses, my first thought was that I had a cold. Maybe it was allergies acting up—something I’ve dealt with my whole life. A few sneezes, some congestion, the usual. But then it didn’t go away. Instead, it dragged on for weeks, eventually settling in my chest like an uninvited guest who refused to leave. At first, I ignored it, thinking it would resolve itself. But the cough lingered, persistent and relentless.
After the first month, I finally went to urgent care. The doctor there essentially shrugged me off, told me to come back if it progressed, and sent me on my way empty handed. A couple of weeks later, I was back at a different urgent care. This time, they prescribed a Z-pack, which I finished diligently, but it didn’t help. In fact, the cough only worsened. At that point, I was getting desperate. A month later, I found myself at yet another urgent care, where things felt more productive. They gave me a chest X-ray, which came back clear, but they could hear my wheezing and promised we’d kick this thing, mostly because I begged them not to just shrug me off as I had been before.
That doctor sent me home with 7 prescriptions—SEVEN. One of them was called Montelukast, which the pharmacist warned me could cause disturbing dreams and thoughts. If that happened, I was to stop taking it immediately and call the doctor. You can imagine how freaked out I was, standing there with this bag of meds, terrified of what I was being prescribed. Also in the mix was a steroid inhaler, so I decided to try that first. It gave me immediate relief, but that worried me more than it comforted me. It felt almost addictive. Once it ran out, I didn’t want to get stuck on that hamster wheel of temporary relief—it felt like a Band-Aid on a bullet hole. Sure enough, as soon as it was empty, everything came back full force.
I got a humidifier and would sit right in front of it, practically burying my face in the mist, just begging for some relief. I was dependent on my inhalers, saline nasal sprays, Neti pot, and boxes of tissues in every room of the house. (Zoya’s been so sweet, always keeping tissues in her pocket for me when we leave the house or go on walks—that’s love right there). But everything was temporary relief.
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