On Saturday night I coughed and I coughed. As I went upstairs, the boys came rushing from their bedrooms to hug me and say, “Mama, are you alright?” Herself emerged to say, “I hope that this isn’t contagious.” Sometime later I went upstairs again. She emerged from her room and said, “Look, stay upstairs or stay downstairs but this ominous approaching coughing is really disturbing.”
On Sunday morning, I had to leave the church to cough in the porch. One of the neighbours came out and asked me was I alright and would she go to the shop and get me cough medicine. The mortification. Herself told me that all that could be heard in the quiet contemplation after communion was me hacking away in the porch.
So, you know, I’m improving.
