Kage Baker at least only caught influenza once a year.
At the moment, I’m very jealous of that. I am either starting on my 4th bout – which blows my statistical theory into a cocked hat – or the last rendition of the damned thing has entered a new, pneumo-thorax-centered phase that intends to flirt heavily with pneumonia before it either kills me or lets me go.
At this point, I am not especially opposed to either solution. However, I am going to write even as I drown in my own noticeably brachycephalic skull … Neanderthal skulls, you know, were dolichocephalic. So are several kinds of modern Homo sapiens, including Australian Aborigines. I’m thinking, if I were dolichocepalic, I might be able to take the pressure off my damned lungs by tilting my head back – you know, so all the fluid would run to the back of my head, which I fondly imagine as a big bone balloon …
However, I know it’s not a balloon, and besides – I have the traditional modern human skull, which means it’s as round as a cantaloupe. This also means that as the mucus in my lungs rises to the base of my trachea, my head fills up like a fishbowl. Then I cough mightily; and – so far! – clear enough passage to breathe in and out. I can even breathe through my nose, because my sinuses are as empty as an unlocked warehouse of stalled-by-the-port-strike electronics.
What I can’t do is take a deep breath. Or, indeed, more than 15 minutes worth of any kind of breath before having to blow all the positive pressure in my lungs.
Gonna go build up all my pillows into a ramp, and try to sleep sitting up. Then tomorrow I’m going to my doctor and demand he vacuum out my lungs. Maybe that will help.