The P is silent

So, please read the post below this one to find out that I am a rude wife. I am rude because I am not very compassionate towards sick-ness. I'm nice for a couple of days, but after that I tend to be like, "you're fine!"

Also, you should know this--every time Chris has ever been sick since I've known him, he gets sick, feels crappy for a few days, then feels better, and THEN he gets a cough. And he coughs for probably 2 months. Ok, that's an exaggeration. 2 weeks. For realsies. So much coughing. It's pretty rough for everyone involved.

So. A couple of weeks ago, he wasn't feeling well. But no cough. He was sort of sick, whatevs, sort of felt better, and then started coughing all the time. So, the same as always. (Again, read below where I talk about this and how I'm not very nice.)

Then last Saturday night he was like, "This is too much. I need to go to the doctor."

So Sunday morning we went to the Instacare. I was thinking he'd just get like a super strength cough suppressant, maybe he had strep and could get the shot in the bum that makes it better, something like that. What I was not prepared for was for him to walk back into the waiting room and say to me, "I have pneumonia."

What? Pneumonia? I mean, I realize it's a real illness, but I guess in my mind you only get pneumonia if you're like Laura Ingalls or Beth March or something. And of course I immediately felt bad for dismissing it as nothing.

So there you have it. Pretty nuts. And I am fit as a fiddle, by the way. I was feeling a tiny bit stuffed up yesterday, but I think that was just my hypochondria flaring up, and not the early stages of becoming an pneumoniatic.