So for the past couple of weeks everyone has been all OH MY GOD TUMOR YOUR COUGH IS SO BAD YOU'RE SO SICK WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU GO TO A DOCTOR YOU HAVE LUNG DISEASE YOUR MUCUS IS GREEN ARE YOU LOOKING AT YOUR MUCUS OH MY GOD TUMOR YOU'RE GOING TO DIE GO TO A DOCTOR TUMOR YOUR FATHER DIDN'T GO TO A DOCTOR EITHER OH MY GOD TUMOR YOU'RE GONNA DIE.
And I've been pretty chill about it, thinking that I could shake whatever it is by taking Benadryl every night and carrying around tissues. (BTW, taking two Benadryls and smoking three bowls makes for an especially lethal concoction. I dreamed that I was taming elephants in the African Savannah with a pool noodle that night.) But after all these only children that had spent their childhoods with people who flipped their
shits every time they got a cold impressed upon me that I was dying or something, I convinced my very busy mother to take me to the doctor. And I sat in that waiting room thinking that I was going to be told that I had weeks to live.
But I just have bronchitis.
