Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
Oh cold and flu season, you gross and icky, mucus-filled extravaganza of joy. After a year of staving off the inevitable, I finally caught a cold.
Having a cold post-transplant means a barrage of questions from my medical team to make sure I don't have the flu (or a myriad of other fun viruses that can compromise my already fragile immune system). It means sorting out what over-the-counter drugs I can take with my existing medications to relieve the symptoms. It means more blood work. It also means a nose swab.
Now you'd think a veteran of 12 bone marrow biopsies would be totally ok with a gentle two second nose swab with a cotton tip. But no. A girl can only be tested for various ailments so many times before the sight of a mere cotton tip can make her weak at the knees and induce a mild panic attack.
Yesterday, I lost my shiz while a patient nurse tried to put a stick up each of my nostrils to swab my mucus. They never told me just how glamorous New York City could be at this time of year! Did I mention that as I demonstrated my delightful hacking cough the nurse requested a bit of sputum as a sample? GLAMOR I TELLS YOU.
For now, hold the roasted chestnuts - I have zero sense of taste or smell and won't enjoy them. If you need me, I'll be at home drinking copious amounts of lemon and honey tea, and hacking up a lung.
Happy flu season ya'll!
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