I roll my eyes but keep them closed.
“No,” Patch continues. “She’s miserable, not dying. Fever’s moderate. Body’s doing what it’s supposed to do.”
Thank you.
Finally, someone sane.
“I’m going to put her on a short steroid taper,” Patch says. “Low dose. Knock down the inflammation so she can breathe without feeling like she’s inhaling through a straw.”
Rude… But accurate.
“I’m also going to give her something for her cough. But here’s the important part,” he adds. “Cough suppressant only at night. She needs sleep.”
Tank grunts his approval.
“But during the day,” Patch continues, “you let her cough.”
“I don’t like that,” Tank says.
Yeah, neither do I.
“It’s not about what you like,” Patch replies evenly. “That junk in her chest needs to come up. If you suppress it too much, it settles. When it settles, we start talking pneumonia. And then you really won’t like it.”
Okay,thatI don’t like.
“What about antibiotics?” Tank asks.
“Not yet,” Patch says. “This is almost certainly viral. Antibiotics won’t touch it unless it turns bacterial. If her fever spikes higher, lasts longer than a few days, or her lungs start sounding dirty, I’ll call one in.”
I don’t get to see Patch nearly as much as I’d like. He’s a patched member of the Shadows, but he likes to be on his own. Luckily, he comes to large family events and always comes when someone needspatchedup. I don’t know his story, but I do know that he’s an actual doctor.
“Fluids,” Patch continues. “Steam. Humid air. Fever reducers, if she needs them. She’ll probably feel worse before she feelsbetter. Steroids kick in quickly, though. And she’s going to be cranky.”
“I’m not cranky,” I rasp without opening my eyes.
“You are absolutely cranky,” Tank says.
“Steroids will most likely make her even more so,” Patch mutters.
I hear his bag zip closed.
“Give her hot tea with honey to help her throat and make her drink hot broth until she can handle swallowing solid foods,” Patch adds.
“I hate broth,” I croak.
“You’re drinking the broth,” Tank says immediately.
“I’m a grown woman.”
“You’re a sick grown woman.”
“I will fight you.”
“Good,” Tank replies. “I like my women feisty.”
I crack one eye open just enough to glare at him.
He’s standing there, arms crossed, jaw set like he’s about to go to war over soup.
