Sarah Morgan
I’m writing this sitting cross-legged with a small striped cat snoring on my lap, coming down from a lovely weekend of relaxing and friends.
I’m also “coming down” a little more literally. The cold that made me sound “distinctive,” “horrible,” or “like a phone-sex operator” (depending on who was offering the opinion) all week finally got me to the doctor on Saturday.
My records note that I’m sensitive to ephedra drugs, and maybe the nurse’s reading this aloud was what lulled me into a sense of of complacency when the doctor sent my prescription over to the pharmacy. I only gave it a cursory lookup online when I got home.
You can see where this is going. While I sit here all cozy and peaceful, my heart is beating double-time. That is not so relaxing. It’s a bit Jessie Spano. It’s happened before – it landed me in A&E in Banbury 10 years ago after passing out in the middle of tutorial. So you’d think I’d be more careful. You’d also think that it’d at least stop me coughing. Stupid medicine.
Well, silver lining. Maybe I’ll be so worn out I’ll be too tired to wake myself up coughing tonight.
Wishing you a Sunday night with all of the creature comforts and none of the tachycardia.
