I spent Monday hoping that the antibiotics would kick in, but I just got worse. Whatever medicine I got at the Chinese hospital wasn't helping.
So I went across town to a medical clinic run by Singaporean doctors who have studied at western universities (i.e., in America or the UK).
My doctor told me to throw away the medicine I got at the Chinese hospital, and that he'd do everything in his power to make sure that I didn't end up with pneumonia.
He said, "I'm going to put you on a nebulizer."
I have never had this bronchitis before, and if I have ever heard the word "nebulizer" before, I didn't pay attention. What's a nebulizer?
So, I'm standing there, trying to look cool. But a sci-fi image enters my head, maybe a Darth Vader-like character pointing a space-age weapon at me -- a nebulizer. (Please say that slowly with a low voice for the full effect. NEB-YOO-LYE-ZERRRRR)
I chided myself for being so melodramatic, so I substituted this mental image for another, what I imagine to be John Grisham's latest book -- "The Nebulizer."
All this happens in my brain in a split second, and I hope my cool doctor isn't able to see the images that have just splashed across my brain. Fortunately, mind reading is not one of his gifts. I am safe. I pull myself together, go to another room, and get nebulized.
For the next four days, I spent most of every day traveling to or being at the doctor's office. It's cold and rains every single day, which is great for someone trying to fight the onset of pneumonia.
So I went across town to a medical clinic run by Singaporean doctors who have studied at western universities (i.e., in America or the UK).
My doctor told me to throw away the medicine I got at the Chinese hospital, and that he'd do everything in his power to make sure that I didn't end up with pneumonia.
He said, "I'm going to put you on a nebulizer."
I have never had this bronchitis before, and if I have ever heard the word "nebulizer" before, I didn't pay attention. What's a nebulizer?
So, I'm standing there, trying to look cool. But a sci-fi image enters my head, maybe a Darth Vader-like character pointing a space-age weapon at me -- a nebulizer. (Please say that slowly with a low voice for the full effect. NEB-YOO-LYE-ZERRRRR)
I chided myself for being so melodramatic, so I substituted this mental image for another, what I imagine to be John Grisham's latest book -- "The Nebulizer."
All this happens in my brain in a split second, and I hope my cool doctor isn't able to see the images that have just splashed across my brain. Fortunately, mind reading is not one of his gifts. I am safe. I pull myself together, go to another room, and get nebulized.
For the next four days, I spent most of every day traveling to or being at the doctor's office. It's cold and rains every single day, which is great for someone trying to fight the onset of pneumonia.
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