The diagnosis

the one I didn't see coming

My mother always said, “Getting old is not for weanies” and I am learning how right she was.

I have always been a remarkably healthy person. Aside from the normal colds and stomach bugs and only one bout of the flu in my youth, I’ve never struggled with anything chronic. I inherited good genes.

Then 2020 happened and it all went out the window.

Ben was in India and Bangladesh in January that year when the first whispers of a nasty virus in China began to be heard. When I picked him up at the Atlanta International terminal, he was sicker than I’d ever seen him and he offered to sit in the back seat. I shrugged and decided the extra two feet wasn’t going to protect me.

It looked like the flu: fever and body aches, headache, sore throat, congestion, coughing and sneezing. I nursed him through it like I would any virus, and a week later I had it too. That was when I realized maybe it was more than the flu. It wasn’t just a man-cold; this was the real deal. Once I had it I wanted to say, like our friend Tom did once, “You’ve never been this sick.”

We both eventually got over it, and by that time the country was in lockdown—two weeks to slow the spread, you know. The fatigue lasted months, longer than any flu we’d ever had, and we gradually realized we were among the first to have the dreaded C-virus. Thanks, China. But I digress.

I had IT again annually like clockwork. A few times I was tested (or someone close to me was), and a couple times not. I’m just assuming they were mostly THAT. Each time we treated it with high-dose vitamin C, mullein tea, and chicken soup, and each time we recovered, though the cough hung on forever. One time I wound up at urgent care with a headache so bad it scared me. Positive for IT. The doctor came in with the news and said, “I can’t do much for you, but I can prescribe Ivermectin. Have you heard of it?”

I answered, “Yeah, that’s what I worm my cows with.” Turns out it’s also effective against IT.

Then, welcome 2025, you have the flu again. I can’t catch a break, only a virus.

This time was different though. I could not get rid of the cough, no matter how much mullein I drank, and I drank it like it was my job. A half gallon a day. I wound up at my doctor’s office, thinking surely I must have pneumonia. I could hear my own wheezing.

A chest X-ray confirmed I did not, but she referred me to pulmonology just to check things out.

Do you know how long it takes to get an appointment with a specialist, even in dinky Farmville, Virginia? Longer than you have a cough. By the time I got an appointment the cough was sort of gone, so I said never mind. That was at the end of February.

Finally, spring came and I was relieved to be done with winter. Fresh air would keep me healthy.

I had not, however, counted on pollen. I’ve never really had true allergies, but the last few years the dust in the air has made me sneeze and cough a little. No big deal.

This year it was far worse. I was coughing my toes up and turning purple doing so. And what better time to set up a brooder and raise 16 chicks in the basement? (Says the person who has never raised chicks before.) I said in another newsletter that chicks are the most disgusting undertaking known to man and never do it inside your dwelling, not even in the basement. The amount of dander these fast-growing fowl shed is truly astounding. I would not have believed it if you’d warned me, and I was, in fact, warned.

So between the pollen and the dander I could hardly take a breath without coughing. I tried wearing a mask in the basement. I tried taking Claritin. I ate cough drops like candy and doused myself in lung-clearing essential oils. Dumped quart jars of vitamin-C shots down my own throat.

Nothing helped. I eagerly awaited the end of pollen season. Amy pitied me and came over and moved the chicks to the outside coop and helped clean my basement.

Still I coughed excessively. I just have not been able to shake it. And all this time I don’t feel sick at all. Also I have abs of steel now, but that’s little consolation when I want to tell myself to shut up already.

Finally I relented last Tuesday and called for that appointment with pulmonology. Surely I must have a tumor or some dread thing. This was completely out of hand.

I was shocked when the girl asked if I could come in that day, and I jumped at it.

Had a chest X-ray. Spirometer test. Walked briskly for six minutes with an O2 meter on one finger and a nurse carrying some gadget that measured my pulse and respiration rates. Had a breathing treatment that included the albuterol I told them made me feel like I was on speed.

Finally, the doctor came in and sat down. I just knew he was going to say I had pneumonia. It had to be.

Instead, he began with, “Your X-ray is clear.”

Hmm.

Then he started asking questions.

If someone makes you laugh out loud, do you cough?

Yes.

If you sing a lot, do you cough?

As a matter of fact, yes.

If you talk on the phone for a long time, do you cough?

Well, I don’t talk on the phone since phones are for texting, but if I talk a lot, yes.

Do you have any wheezing?

Yes, that’s why I thought I had pneumonia.

Has anyone in your family been diagnosed with asthma?

(Me giving the side eye) Never.

He pauses while looking at me.

This is classic new-onset asthma.

(Silence.) What?

Have you ever had C*vid?

Yes, four or five times.

We see this all the time in people—especially those that are getting older—who have had [IT] a few times. It does a number on your lungs.

At this point I don’t even know what to say. I keep wanting to ask, “Are you sure about this, because asthma?” I just can’t believe it.

He tells me about his mother-in-law who presented with the same symptoms 15 years ago and he diagnosed her with asthma too. He prescribed a long-term inhaler and she hasn’t coughed since. He says he once tried to wean her off it and she started coughing again.

I am not happy with this, but I let him prescribe the inhaler with a low dose of corticosteroid that will reduce the inflammation in my lungs and allow me to actually breathe without barking like a seal. Oh and by the way, make sure you gargle with mouthwash after every use of the inhaler or the medicine will sit in the back of your throat and cause a fungal infection—thrush. Oh, joy.

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Later, at home.

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It is a testament to how sick I am of coughing that I brought the inhaler home (with a bottle of oral-microbiome-destroying mouthwash) and intend to use it as instructed. Do not google the drug facts, do not google side effects, do not pass GO, do not collect $200.

I’ve taken my shower, flossed and brushed my teeth. The moment of truth has arrived.

I read the instructions carefully and psyche myself up for the deed. Open the cover, press down the yellow lever, exhale, put the mouthpiece to my mouth, and inhale sharply and deeply. Hold for a count of ten.

Hm. That wasn’t so bad. It doesn’t even have a taste. I think I can handle this.

Grab the mouthwash bottle and take a swig. Oops, that was a little too big of a swig, but I’ll make it work. Swish it around, lean my head back, and start gargling, also for a count of ten.

Except too much mouthwash starts to bubble and the foam is now dripping down my cheeks toward my ears and I’m only at 4. I make it to 8 before I think I’m going to choke on the mess and bend over to spit it in the sink.

GROSS. I hate mouthwash, always have.

Quick turn the water on and get a mouthful, swish it around, spit it out. Then get another mouthful so I can get rid of the taste in the back of my throat, bend my head back, and realize once again I have too much liquid in my oral cavity. (What is wrong with me?) I figure at least the water got back there for a second. It will get rid of the obnoxious fake-mint-saccharin taste. Bend forward to spit it out but forget to close my mouth during the bend and spray semi-foamy water all over the mirror, the faucet, and the entire sink area, and I am still trying to get the nasty out of my mouth. Somehow it has also gone up my nose.

I had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all and figured I would learn from my mistakes.

(Speeding up the story here.)

I sleep 2 (two) hours and not a wink more. Get up at 3:15 to read, try to sleep in the recliner around 4:30. Not happening.

Whatever. I have stuff to do; I’ll just power through the day.

Repeat the inhaler process, this time without dousing my bathroom with used mouthwash water.

Spent the day exhausted from obvious lack of sleep, but also with low-grade jitters. That’s when I decided to retrieve the drug-fact sheet from the inhaler box and see what the manufacturer is willing to admit to. The insert is folded up like (and the size of) an old-fashioned road map. Apparently the manufacturer has a lot to say in twelve languages.

May cause fungal infection in mouth. May increase chances of getting pneumonia. May weaken immune system. May reduce adrenal function. May cause sudden breathing problems immediately after inhaling. (What?) May cause serious allergic reaction. May increase blood pressure or cause fast or irregular heartbeat. May cause osteoporosis. May increase pressure in eyes (glaucoma), cause cataracts, or other changes in vision. MAY CAUSE ASTHMA.

What the world? Isn’t that what it’s supposed to help with? Am I crazy for thinking maybe the doctor should have mentioned all this, or at least asked if I had a family history of heart disease or glaucoma or cataracts because yes I do all of the above?

That’s when I started googling “natural ways to manage asthma.” If you have experience in this realm and have any non-pharmaceutical advice, please do share.

I’m specifically wondering if I should take a vacation. You know where there is no pollen and no chick dander? The beach.

Photo by Sean Oulashin on Unsplash