Back from the doctor. Dr. Rowan suspects whooping cough. I have to get a swab and a blood test tomorrow. Even if I have it, there’s not really anything they can do for me besides the antibiotics I’m already taking. (“You know they call it the ‘Hundred Day Cough,'” she said.) However, if I test positive and you’ve been around me in the past week and you’re feeling sick, get to your doctor. (Especially if you have kids.) And if the test comes back negative, well then I just have a particularly nasty post-viral cough… which they still can’t do anything for.
Oh, and I brought up the race, which is three weeks from today. “You’re not doing it,” she said flatly. “You knew I was going to say that, right? Even if you did do it, you know you wouldn’t do very well.” (She was blunt but honest.) So I’m faxing in my withdrawal form tomorrow. That kinda sucks. But to be honest it’s also a little bit of a relief. Now I don’t have to worry about how I’m going to get healthy and somehow prepare to run 20km in twenty days. She also gave me a prescription for a big-ass bottle of codeine so at least I’ll be able to sleep this week.
I’ll keep you all posted as to the diagnosis.