I’ve had a cough for a while.

Given the amount of time it’s been with me, it should either start paying rent or, at the very least, we should strongly consider slapping our names on it and enrolling it in school.

Before writing this, there was nothing to suggest that the silly thing had plans to leave my body soon. But there’s hope. It’s not a lot, but it’s there.

If I had to trace its origins, I’d say it started about three months ago. The household had gone through its traditional cycle of cough and flu and was now entering the new season. All considered, I’d escaped that one and felt pretty good about myself, and then, like an unwanted high school Maths teacher, that annoying tickle in the throat showed up.

Before we’d made our peace with COVID, that would have caused severe alarm, seeing me fire up YouTube, scour people’s WhatsApp statuses, and reach out to people of varying faiths for intercession here and there. I would not go to Google, though, which is odd.

For whatever reason, Dr. Google seems keen to play it safe on pandemic issues- which is quite a relief seeing as we can only take so much in this day and age. We don’t need some overzealous piece of tech rounding off our malaise to the nearest terminal condition.

I digress.

So there it was the tickle of despair. I didn’t think much of it, it would come and go. And if it was something I’d picked up from the offspring, well, how bad could it be? They’d kicked some of these things out of their system, so I should be okay.

Except I wasn’t.

It grew. And grew. Becoming a full-blown cough and, not unlike that date you had back at the university, bringing company you really didn’t need. This third wheel was a sensation unfamiliar to both me and (I’m assuming) my chest.

I went into self-care mode- some honey now and then. Some lemon… garlic. It wouldn’t budge. I tried steaming crystals, but all that did was improve the supplier’s PR in as far their strength was concerned.

Finally, I caved.

When I described it to the doctor, I called it an odd wheeze. He was not impressed. It was almost as though he mistook me for an old classmate and expected me to know better. He called it ‘Rhonchi’ and said it was nothing to worry about and sent me on my way with a cough syrup.

Intrigued, I went online to learn more about Rhonchi, as you do. The first place I went to, a site no doubt put together by some angry medical interns, described it as a musical sound of some sort in the chest – I recall cracking wise about how that explained stethoscopes – something about docs looking for their jams in patients’ cavities.

I’ve put in more time since and I see descriptions that say it sounds like a cross between snoring and gurgling. I still think “wheezing on steroids” is a more accurate description, but I didn’t study medicine, much less pulmonary discographies, so I’ll go with whatever is online.

The cough syrup didn’t do jack for me.

So I went to the pharmacy for some lozenges. The lady behind the counter explained that I might need to take some antibiotics because if the cough was productive, there was a high chance that the erm, product, was creating a festering ground for bacteria. If left untreated, things could go south FAST.

I am not keen on antibiotics, but there was way too much sense being made, so I caved.

And nothing happened. The cough and company stuck around, forcing me to seek a second opinion and a third, picking up more antibiotics and more cough syrups along the way. Oh, and meeting a doctor that used movie scenarios to explain what was happening in my body. Wisely he went with superhero movies instead of 50 Shades of Grey.

The fourth opinion I sought had me undergo a CT Scan and placed on a nebuliser where I fought the urge to channel a Bane impression. (How silly would it be if that was the last thing the nurse remembered – “Even me I don’t know what happened, he was here talking oba howly, and then THIS)

The CT scan showed nothing apart from the esteem-crashing revelation that my lungs were unremarkable. I have my golden years ahead of me, my personality will have to work harder.

I was asked to use an inhaler and monitor the condition. And while that (the inhaler, not journaling the cough) may have reduced the annoyance of the cough a little, it didn’t get rid of it completely -very much how you’ll call the cops on the noisy neighbourhood bar/church and take no comfort in the lowered volume because deep down you just know “I know who I am” will pop up again.

A bunch of tests later, some antibiotics (yes, more) were prescribed.

For good measure, I also looked into natural remedies. The first batch I got featured an “Immunity booster” (I am willing to bet it was turmeric), some “cough tea” (it is what it is, why give it a fancy name like, I don’t know, ‘Robo-Cough’ or something) and Eucalyptus.

You kind of make your peace with the first two and even find workarounds for them – ‘oh, look at me, I’m taking shots of turmeric, but the Eucalyptus is a different kettle of fish entirely. I had difficulty placing the scent until someone uncultured in the ways of homeopathy walked into the room and asked whether I’d sprayed the place with insecticide. It was downhill from there. Not even the thought that I was making it hard for mosquitoes EVER to consider living in my body made it okay for the Eucalyptus to be a part of my life.

So I roped in another natural remedy- adhatoda vasica syrup. I read up on it and it seems to check out. My only problem with it – it presents as tar or some other gooey dark liquid with honey snuck in for good measure. It is disrespectful to other drugs that are genuinely syrupy to call this thing syrup. We were kidding around with the sibling about how it will be applied – his contribution – “spread it”.

I suppose there’s only one way to find out. I’ll let you know how it goes in Part 2.