Turns out it was a cold with a twist of upper respiratory infection, marching slowly, inexorably, mucously down the road to bronchitis. But! I now have several prescriptions, including one that will tell my pulmonary irritant receptors to just take a dang break because some people are trying to sleep. I also had a conversation with my doctor that went like this.
DOC
You’ve almost got bronchitis. At the moment, it’s just an upper respiratory infection, and that can be cleared up in a week with antibiotics.
ME
Okay.
DOC
Your wheezing is also a point of concern. I’m diagnosing you with asthma.
ME
You mean the thing I was born with?
DOC
I’m writing you a prescription for an inhaler.
ME
I have an inhaler.
DOC
Here, let me show you how an inhaler works.
I now realize this makes my doctor sound like a quack. The rest of the conversation was enlightening and filled me with an awe of medical science and the healing we as a species are able to accomplish, in spite of how expensive it is for someone without insurance. But that’s less interesting than the doctor diagnosing me with the nerdiest of ailments. Second nerdiest is orange stool due to acute Cheetos overdose.

