Last Wednesday morning I went to Uppsala, thinking it would be just another routine trip but, oh, how wrong I was. I’d been battling a slight cold for a couple of days and even considered briefly just staying home and calling in sick to work, but since I’m very seldom bested by a cold, I soldiered on. I felt worse as the day progressed, but still figured it wasn’t much of anything and after lying down for an hour or so after work, I walked down to the grocery store for some provisions.

I should have figured I was sicker than I thought when I had to stop twice to rest on the way back to my apartment, but my place is at the top of a long, steep hill and I was loaded down with grocery bags, so I guess I thought I was just tired. When I got home, I watched a little TV and ate a bit, then went to bed around ten-thirty. And that’s when things got fun.

I spent the whole long night tossing and turning and sweating like crazy, and before too long I was having a hard time catching my breath, even just coming back to bed from using the bathroom. I was full on wheezing on both the inhale and exhale, and just sitting up to take a drink of water was exhausting. I realized some time in the morning that I wasn’t going to make it to work, so I texted Astrid, my office-mate, and then collapsed back into bed, arising for real only around three o’clock in the afternoon. I thought I still might make it out to an after-work with some other Ph.D. students, but when I discovered that I hadn’t the energy even to fully rinse my hair in the shower, I was quickly dispelled of that notion.

After my rather inefficient hair-wash, I staggered back to the couch, took five or ten minutes to catch my breath, and made a desperate call to Olof. I was so sick and tired and on the verge of panic that as soon as I heard his voice I started crying and pleading with him to come down to Uppsala and get me. That was the height of impracticality, of course, but he did the next best thing and placed a call to the medical advice line, where he was told to have me call the local number in Uppsala. I did as I was told, and upon hearing my voice and my ragged efforts to breathe, the nurse made me an appointment with the urgent-care clinic.

So, to make a long story a tiny bit shorter, I took a cab down to the clinic, where the doctor ordered two breathing treatments and a round of quick-acting cortisone. The verdict, after a blood test, was bacterial bronchitis, so I was sent home with antibiotics, more cortisone, and a pack of asthma inhalers. I had a much better night that night and even managed to drag myself to work the next day (though mostly because the thought of spending another miserable day on my own in the apartment was just to much to bear). I got through Friday thanks mostly to the sympathy and attentiveness of Astrid, who even made a special trip to the pharmacy before coming to the office to bring me some cough drops. Later that evening I came back home, feeling so sick and worn-out that I didn’t even bother to tidy up my apartment or pack more than my purse and my medicine.

After a couple of days I’m feeling quite a lot better, if not quite back to 100%. This is pretty bad timing, as I’m back to Uppsala tomorrow, then on to Tallinn, Estonia on Thursday for a conference. There were a couple of days there when I thought I might have to give all that a miss, but I think I’ll manage it after all. I’ve been really looking forward to this trip, so I’m really counting on my immune system to do me a solid and keep me on the path to wellness. And if not, well, there’s always drugs …