Death Warmed Over


But first, let me take a selfie!

The above photo has nothing really to do with this essay. I thought it’s a cool shot of the garden above the San Callisto Catacombs in Rome, Italy.  The picture is included in the second edition of my first novel, Thirty Days Over the Big Pond: Part One, which is now being illustrated to match the other two parts of the series. Having been new to self-publishing at the time, I left Part One without photographs. Almost done with the rewrite. Look for it at all major e-book outlets soon.

It’s a shame how one doesn’t value good health until it slips away suddenly. Having been sick as a dog for almost a week, I thought a lot about it. Fortunately it seems to be temporary, I hope, as my well-being has been returning at a steady clip. As long as daily improvement is evident, I consider myself on the mend.

Wonder who came up with the expression, “Sick as a dog”? Is it because of the canine’s barfing all over the place when they are, laying lackadaisically, not even wanting to eat; looking at you with their sad, watery, puppy-dog eyes which melts your heart? You don’t hear “Sick as cat,” although their spitting up hair balls and dead-mice fur is pretty gross too.

Doing the requisite search on the Internet for the origin of the phrase, I found the same, regularly cut-and-pasted explanations one finds about mostly everything when researching a topic on the Net. From what I gathered, the idiom was due probably to the fact that the British—from whom the saying originated allegedly—consider the term “sick” to mean when a person vomits, which a dog has a tendency to do often.

Otherwise, persons with a cold or other maladies are considered in the Queen’s English to be ill. Americans use the former term loosely for everything, so perhaps I should change my terminology to having been “ill.” Yet, what euphemism or simile can I use to substantiate my being under the weather: ill as a dog?  Doesn’t seem to have quite the same intensity.

Happily, at least I didn’t vomit throughout this period, nor had I spent much time on the loo from a stomach virus. What, too much information? OK, let’s just say I felt like death warmed over.

Went to the doctor after three days for not feeling any better, but getting worse. Hadn’t been inside a doctors office for almost a decade. I’ve been really fortunate, although, I went to an urgent-care clinic once in the meantime for a bad cough and cold.

My new HMO covers only visits to a primary doctor, whom I had to choose before going, whose office was the one I went to back in 2005 when having pneumonia. Fearing that’s what I was coming down with again, considering I went tramping in the woods last weekend in shirtsleeves due to the break in the cold temps we’ve been having, I had gotten a chill, a recognizable start to my affliction.

During the change of seasons is usually when colds and bouts with bronchitis occur for me when I’m not careful. The recent malaise began with a wicked sore throat that went deeply into my chest, raising a low-grade fever, causing irritation and making me cough so badly, my ribs hurt.

The physician prescribed heavy-duty antibiotics, steroids, an inhaler, and sent me for a chest x-ray, which turned out to be negative for pneumonia, thanking my lucky stars. Now, since I’ve last been there to get a checkup, they are wanting me to get blood and lab work done, have a pneumonia-preventive vaccination, poke and prod me.  She said to wait until I feel better to get any tests done, since my system is presently out of whack, which can throw all the test results off.

Found out that the law requires medical records to be kept for seven years only, whereas my doctor’s office had all charts shredded from prior to 2011, well past my last visit, forcing me to fill out all that damned paperwork before being seen again

So, I’m thinking all’s well that ends well while coping with a bad change-of-season cold/bout with bronchitis, which concludes another weekly tirade, leaving you with a double shot of music this time as a cure for what ails me.

Thanks for stopping by and your continued support.

About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at
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