Just shoot me
Last Thursday afternoon, I decided to take the next day (Friday) off from work. For some days previously, I wasn't feeling quite right - slight fever, aching torso, lethargy. On Friday, I developed chills and breathing became painful. By Saturday morning, I had a full-blown hacking cough that stylishly accompanied all of the other symptoms that were causing me misery, and the pain in my ribs was so intense that I schlepped over to our local medi-center.
Bad food? Radiation sickness? Vengeful ex-wife? Bird flu? Mad cow? Mais Non! B2 developed a bone fide pleural infection. "But B2, B2," you query, forehead furrowed like a newly-plowed field and rivulets of sweat running down your face no doubt induced by your overtaxed brain, "What the heck is a pleural infection?" Damned if I know, but believe me, you don't want it.
Chest bugs
After an examination that included fluid samples (get your mind out of the gutter), it was determined that I was suffering from something similar to what was first described by Hippocrates around 500 BC. Today, antibiotics, steroids, inhalants, or general treatments for flu-like ailments are used for milder cases, but this always wasn't so. Back in the bad old days, open thoracic drainage was the only treatment for more aggravated instances of this disorder until the 19th century, when closed-chest tube drainage was first described but not adopted.
Apparently there are several causes for the disorder, but the main culprit seems to be bacteriological - and there are different bugs that can work their evil magic. If it is a mild case, a patient will get better by sucking down the prescribed medication(s), ensuring proper nutrition, and getting proper rest to help the body fight off the infection.
The bad news is that if not treated, this infection can develop into some very bad things - things that I'd rather not experience - like pneumonia and death. If those two alternatives don't open your eyes, the damned thing can weaken your body to the point where you develop other cute little ailments.
Batter up
All I know is, that Saturday morning it felt like someone took a 36-ounce Louisville Slugger to my rib cage while dancing the Fandango on my forehead wearing baseball spikes. It hurt to bend over, stretch, and breathe. I have never experienced anything like this infection and believe me when I tell you that you don't want to, either.
The fever comes and goes and the cough adds a little painful spice to the mix, but for all of that my infection is thankfully not bad enough to require me to stay home. But working in this condition is no fun, which is why I am going to do my best to knock this thing out of me.
So here's hoping that each of you feel better than B2. Drink your OJ, get plenty of rest, and listen to your mommies.