New year, new illness

Mike and I spent New Year's Eve at the Riverside Theater. Cake was having a concert with a band called Maritime opening, and the Scarring Party was playing in the second-floor bar area before the concert and during the intermission. It was dull and uncomfortable at times - I hate mingling! - but there were some pretty good points too. The Scarring Party played well, there was good food to be had, Mike looked good in his new slacks and I liked my dress. Mike tried to take a photo of us by holding the camera at arm's length and snapping a picture, but during his first try he held it too low and all he got was a snapshot of my chest. He seemed to think that was a pretty good deal, though. And, of course, at midnight I got a kiss from the best husband in the room.

After midnight, though, things started to go downhill. Mike's inhaler was a new type that sprayed the medicine without CFCs or something, and in addition to being twice as expensive it was also tough to tell when it was running out. Well, last night we found out for sure that it was empty. Mike had been battling a cold for the past few days, and the exertion of playing was too much for him. He was starting to get that old, familiar cough and that gaspy quality to his voice. I had originally planned on picking up his new inhaler first thing in the morning (which, by then, was a mere four hours away) but instead I called Walgreen's back and told them that Mike was having trouble breathing tonight, and could we please pick up an inhaler immediately? Mike's friend Jim graciously missed out on having drinks with Cake so he could take over our job of watching the band's equipment so we could get out to the car and on our way to the pharmacy.

Mike carried his little box of wires and cords and I wrestled his upright bass out to the car. Even though he wasn't carrying anything heavy and we were walking slowly since I was hauling the bass, he was out of breath and couldn't stop coughing. He got the bass into the car and we hopped in. Mike pulled out of the parking spot and started to drive across town to the pharmacy.

"If you need to, we can pull over and...call somebody," I said. I didn't want to say outright that I was thinking of calling an ambulance.

"I'm okay," he gasped. He was still coughing and had the window down for air.

Never has the drive across town seemed so long. Even though the streets were fairly empty there were drunken bar patrons stumbling around and busses making runs. I closed my eyes and clasped my hands and prayed he'd be okay.

We did get to Walgreen's without incident. When we walked up to the pharmacy counter the pharmacist glanced at us and said, "Albuterol, right?" It was pretty obvious what we were there for. Mike shakily unwrapped his inhaler and took a puff while I talked with the pharmacist and paid. Even with the albuterol he still needed to just stand still for a while to catch his breath. We came home with his brand new inhaler, a bottle of Mucinex to loosen the congestion from his cold, and a box of Russel Stover candy. When Mike chuckled when I grabbed it in the checkout line I defensively replied, "It's comfort food!" Molasses chews have a way of relaxing the nerves.

Today Mike's spending the day in bed to recover from both his asthma and the cold. We were supposed to go to church, but he's in no shape to go anywhere and I was reluctant to leave him alone. He has a doctor's appointment tomorrow, which is good. I know Mike must think I'm an awful nag about his asthma, but it's worth his being annoyed at me if it keeps us from experiencing nights like the one we just went through.