After three weeks of poor sleep, a terribly sore throat, daily headaches, far more migraines than usual, and spending my nights on the couch ("To help my sinuses drain" I told Roy, but honestly I just felt so guilty about keeping him awake with my cough), we decided I needed to go to the clinic to see whether or not my cold was more than just a cold. It did seem odd that after two weeks, my symptoms almost completely disappeared, only to hit me tenfold two mornings later and get progressively worse over that third week.
After going over out test results, the doctor said, "Well, the good news is, you don't have strep." He pulled out his stethoscope, listened to my lungs for a few moments, and said, "But you do have a bad case of acute bronchitis."
Roy rarely gets sick, but that morning he'd felt "kinda funny", and like he had a bit of a sore throat (it's like pulling teeth to get that guy to admit if he's feeling poorly... I quite literally forced him to the hospital last year when he broke his finger), and he decided to see the doctor with me on the off chance that he might be coming down with whatever I'd had.
"I'd better still not kiss you," I said to Roy. "I don't want you to get bronchitis."
"He'd better not kiss you." the doctor said, holding up Roy's test results. "He's got strep."
/Cue sad trombone "wah wah wah" noise.