Being sick here is dreadful. With every cough, I had to duck under the blanket --
once, twice, three times -- and try to keep from coughing anymore.
Most of the time the tickle refused to go away, so I had to drink milk with honey, sugar or cough drops.
I get dizzy just thinking about all the cures I've been subjected to: sweating out the fever,
steam treatment, wet compresses, dry compresses, hot drinks, swabbing my throat,
lying still, heating pad, hot-water bottles, lemonade and, every two hours, the thermometer.
Will these remedies really make you better? The worst part was when Mr. Dussel decided to play doctor
and lay his pomaded head on my bare chest to listen to the sounds.
Not only did his hair tickle, but I was embarrassed, even though he went to school thirty years ago
and does have some kind of medical degree. Why should he lay his head on my heart?
After all, he's not my boyfriend! For that matter, he wouldn't be able to tell a healthy sound from an unhealthy one.
He'd have to have his ears cleaned first, since he's becoming alarmingly hard of hearing.
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