Just a Little Cough

He said: “It’s just a little cough.”

Thirty-one years ago the best friend I had on this planet was told: “It’s just a little cough.”

Thirty-one years ago my best friend’s cough worsened and became chronic. My best friend went to the doctor – again.

“It’s probably bronchitis. I’ll take another X-ray and prescribe some antibiotics.”

Graham had another X-ray and took his antibiotics. The cough worsened.

He went back to the doctor.

“You need a stronger antibiotic, but let me take another X-ray.”

Zapped again.

The cough became constant, uncontrollable, and debilitating.

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Life is but a Dream. Barbara rushed him into the hospital emergency room.

“It looks like you have pneumonia. We’ll admit you right away and put you on penicillin.”

“Cough – cough – cough – cough – cough.”

“It must be some kind of resilient pneumonia. We’ll try something else. But first let’s get an X-ray.”

“Cough – cough – cough – cough – cough.”

Zapped again.

“Cough – cough – cough – cough – cough.”

Enter Doctor Caring.

“Let me see his X-rays.”

Up on the light boxes the X-rays went.

Doctor Caring’s jaw dropped.

“Did anyone ever look at this man’s X-rays?”

My best friend, Graham Amos Weaver, died on February 24, 1983 (at the age of 42) from advanced lung cancer because nobody ever bothered to look at the X-rays that the doctors ordered.

Now I have a little cough.

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