Mid-September's flu A had the whole family taking turns burning with fever — quite the ordeal. We'd barely recovered when Golden Week brought round two.
This time there was no fever, and I privately felt a little pleased — but I celebrated too early. The runny nose went on until my skin nearly peeled, and my throat felt like I'd swallowed a razor blade — even swallowing saliva required mental preparation. Not much coughing, just dry — the whole passage from nose to throat felt like it'd been blasted by a dehumidifier all night. It was so miserable I sat on the sofa in the middle of the night staring into space, thinking this was worse than flu A. The flu at least breaks after the fever. This one doesn't burn, but it just drags — a whole week, and even today it hasn't fully cleared.
I married late and had children late; my best friend married early. Her kid gets fevers and colds every few days, and she'll rattle off "this time we're taking Cefaclor, the second generation." I used to stand there bewildered, thinking she was practically a barefoot doctor. Her drawer was stuffed with medicine, and I'd laugh: "Are you running a pharmacy?"
Now it's my turn.
My drawer is well stocked now — various anti-inflammatory and antivirals like Ceclor, Zithromax, Tamiflu, Xofluza; expectorants like Mucosolvan; cough meds; antihistamines for the runny nose; ibuprofen for fever. Self-prescribing for the whole family.
So this is the day I've reached.