The cough that nearly carried me off

That's possibly a gross exaggeration, but I have been quite poorly of late.  It all began six weeks ago with a head cold that quickly degenerated into a persistent cough. To make matters worse, I had a voice like a demented frog and couldn't sing, so confined myself to strumming my ukulele at meetings of The Ukes uv Azzard and trying to remain cheerful.  On one 'interesting' evening, I was the only girl present and was reduced to attempting the girls' parts an octave lower than normal.  How embarrassing is that?

After three weeks of sucking Potter's pastels and downing a large bottle of Benylin Chesty Cough mixture (of doubtful efficacy), I sought the advise of my GP. She asked me to take deep breaths (between the coughing) while she probed my anatomy with her stethoscope. "Your airways are all clear," she eventually declared, "so I reckon it's just a viral infection.  But if it doesn't clear in a week, come back and see me."

Well, I held out for a fortnight of broken sleep and coughing that occasionally improved, then worsened again. Back to the doc. I went. 

"Are you sure it isn't Covid?"
"I've been testing regularly."
"Your airways are still clear, but there may be a residual infection. I'll prescribe you a course of antibiotics."

One week later, almost to the day, the symptoms began to lift. Whether it was down to the Amoxicillin or the virus eventually running its course, I shall never know, but at long last I was managing uninterrupted sleep most nights. My resting heartrate fell from 68bpm to a more normal 56 and my energy levels rose accordingly.  

This improvement couldn't come too soon as the next stage in my Offa's Dyke Adventure draws ever closer. Several weeks ago I'd planned this, booking a night's accommodation in Kington and another in Knighton. Only yesterday did I feel sufficiently confident about my health to confirm the arrangements. So, all things being well, the next time I blog here I'll have ticked off another 27 miles of the trail.