Tag Archives: bronchitis

Congestion

Congestion: (adj) a condition of the respiratory tract being blocked with mucus

Trials would never get the chance to be tribulations if we were granted the privilege of planning them instead of being surprised by their arrival.

Honestly, I think I could survive almost anything if I could pencil it in on my calendar in advance, and then build all my activities around funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
preparing for it.

This is the ridiculous part about those who believe in destiny.

Life is clear–it favors chaos. If we actually believe there’s a Divine Order, we logically must conclude that this God-force is schizophrenic.

I had one moment in my life when I wish I had been given the opportunity to select the time slot for my cold.

I would have chosen one week later to be congested–and gladly swallowed the nasty concoctions that are supposed to make me feel better, but actually only cause drowsiness.

My congestion arrived a week early.

My new book had been released, and I was supposed to speak to a large crowd of people, using the event as a launch for my campaign. My bronchitis, croup and laryngitis arrived when I was appearing in a large auditorium, premiering my new album.

I ran what I called the gamut of five:

  • I prayed
  • I sprayed (everything I could think of, to open up my throat)
  • I complained
  • I tried every home remedy known to humans.
  • And finally, I foolishly went to my events–with no voice.

Well, you can imagine, it went just about as well as it sounds like it would go. The congestion was in control.

Should I have just cancelled instead of giving it the “good old college try?”

I don’t know. My experience is that the “good old college try” often leaves you flunking out in disgrace.

 

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Chablis

Chablis: (adj) a dry white wine from Chablis, France.

Warning to all innocents and those easily influenced by the ramblings of raging writers. I am about to spew from my storage bins of persona
l prejudice, based upon my own experience. It is not racial, ethnic or gender-based.

It is an abiding distaste for wine. Or really, any alcoholic beverages.

When I was a young boy, I had bronchitis all the time–something my parents referred to as “the croup.” It produced this horrible hacking cough that sounded like I had run out of mucous and was banging the back of my throat with a ball-peen hammer.

The only medication the doctor recommended for my condition was Pertussin Cough Syrup.

It tasted terrible. It gagged me. Every time my mother threatened me with a spoon, bottle in hand, I tried to wrestle it from her, spilling the contents, in hopes that the family funds were too depleted to purchase another bottle.

So you can imagine how surprised I was when I went to a party with friends, and they asked, “Would you like a glass of wine?” I had seen people drinking wine in movies, and they seemed pleased with the taste, so I agreed.

Just imagine how shocked my friends were when I started to gag on the wine, insisting it was my old nemesis cough syrup.

They comforted me, saying that some people found red wine to be a bit strong, but that I would certainly like a white wine–a Chablis.

I didn’t.

Finally, at one party, somebody gave me orange juice with a little bit of wine and said, “Try this! It’s a spritzer!”

It was somewhat better–but still tasted like someone had left the orange juice in the sun for three days and was trying to pass it off as freshly squeezed.

Let us just say, I am not a drinker of wine, nor any kind of alcohol. I feel no self-righteousness about it; I don’t even think it makes me unique.

I just feel, if you’re going to taste something that rancid and foul, you better damn well be sick.

 

 

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Bronchitis

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Bronchitis: (n) inflammation of the mucous membrane in the bronchial tubes.

Odd as it may seem, the only way to stay well is to have been sick enough to build up antibodies to protect you.Dictionary B

It’s a strange system, isn’t it?

But without equity, some of us would believe that being ill was a sign of God’s anger, while others would conclude that clear nasal passages were a divine authorization to act superior.

So we all get sick.

It’s all about the timing.

When I was in my twenties, I recorded an album in Nashville, Tennessee, that started to get some attention. That in itself was remarkable, but then, when our group was invited to perform at a huge festival, our producers were nearly ecstatic, and were sure that this was the stepping stone to give us the focus to launch our career.

We planned the set, rehearsed the material–and somewhere along the line in the process, I got bronchitis.

I was so congested, choked up and stuffed that I was unable to produce any sound from my voice beyond a harsh whisper.

I tried everything.

Hot steam, over-the-counter remedies, honey and lemon and various configurations of prayer.

I stubbornly refused to cancel the festival, deciding that I would heroically see it through–that somehow or another, God in His infinite wisdom would grant me voice at the last moment.

In front of thousands of people, I croaked out what could have been our hit song–had I not been “Froggy McFrog.”

It was embarrassing.

No–humiliating.

Even those who loved me didn’t want to be around me. It made them try to be nice–and they didn’t feel nice.

So to some degree, from that point on in my life (since I kind of make my living from my voice) I have become a Cold Nazi.

If a sniffle is in the room or a child is dripping nasal fluid all over the house, I run away in horror.

I am not proud of that.

But my bout with bronchitis did warn me about the danger … of not having a voice in the matter.

 

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Adrenalin

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter AAdrenalin: (n) a hormone secreted by the adrenal glands, esp. in conditions of stress, increasing rates of blood circulation, breathing, and carbohydrate metabolism and preparing muscles for exertion.

I wanted a shot of adrenalin just last night. It’s the body’s cocaine, you know–except no policeman picks you up because you have white powder on the tip of your nose.

The trouble with adrenalin is that it is only available when we find ourselves at our worst. It’s a drug the body secretes when we are stressed, frightened to death, or overly angry about some situation.

Actually, one of the questions I would like to ask God is about adrenalin–because giving adrenalin to someone who is already insanely imbalanced in their judgment is like selling a gun to a person who is deranged and might go out to shoot people in the workplace. (Wait a second. We DO that …)

Truthfully, what I need when I’m trying to find my car keys and about to burst into fury is a shot of Valium. (“Chill out, Pilgrim. We’ll find the keys, and if we don’t we’ll go back in the house and toast up a frozen pizza and watch reruns of The Waltons…”)

The LAST thing in the world I require when I am scared by an unexpected bogey man, is to have my heart rate suddenly go up to 180 beats per minute, stealing my breath and depriving my brain, which needs to accessed for escape plans, of oxygen.

My mother told me that when I was a child that I got bronchitis so severely one night that my heart stopped and I couldn’t breathe. Our local doctor gave me a shot in the heart of some adrenalin. (Now, I don’t know if this was true or not. I love my mother dearly, but she was known to spin a yarn, and I don’t mean to make a sweater…) But if any of it IS true, and I did require that drug to start my breathing again, I am grateful.

But it tells me how potent it is, and how dangerous it can be at the wrong times. I suppose if I were in a car accident and someone I loved was underneath the back wheels and I was suddenly required to lift the car up, adrenalin would be helpful.

But feeling pumped, driven, intoxicated and drugged at a time when I probably should calm down is not helpful.

So as far as adrenalin is concerned, like so many things in nature, I do see the purpose … I’m just not really clear on the application.