Bleah

This cold is not moving along as fast as I want it to. My throat got so sore last night I made the momentous decision to take some ibuprofen. I haven't had any since shortly after the hypertension was diagnosed. Raphael was still up and about and brought me the pills and a whole-wheat roll on a little plate, which was comforting.

I've been sleeping upstairs by myself; the nights in question were some I'd have ordinarily spent with David, but the waterbed, while very nice for achey illnesses, isn't so good for vaguely-too-hot not-quite-running-a-fever ones, and is difficult to prop oneself up in, and is far from the distractions I want when I can't sleep.

The ibuprofen did in fact make my blood pressure go up somewhat, but there doesn't seem to have been any lasting harm. I can't find any contraindication to taking cough medicine with any of my drugs, as long as it hasn't got decongestants hidden in it, but I'm very wary anyway. Put enough chemicals together, something's bound to blow up. Maybe I'll have hacked up most of the gunk by this evening. I don't mind coughing during the day.

I'm usually quite grateful for my antihypertensives -- one of my grandmothers walked around for years with blood pressure in excess of 200 over 100, because the only drugs available were barbiturates and she didn't care for being a zombie all the time -- but sometimes I am not grateful at all, I just want it all to be magically okay. Whine whine whine. Whine.
Feh. At least I'm not living in a war zone.

Pamela