Tell me I'm dreaming

While I wait for my husband to arrive from his conference in São Paolo, I rest in my hotel room.

I boil water and inhale the hot steam.  I want to clear my airway so I can sing tomorrow night.

I've been playing down my ailments, telling my friends that I'm fine.

But I'm not fine - I'm far from fine.

I've been telling myself it's just a cold.  But wow, this seems to be the mother of all colds.  

When I got sick a month ago, I thought the timing was good.  How long can a cold last?  Two weeks?  Three weeks at most?  Plenty of time for it to get better.

But it's not getting any better.  It's getting worse.  My nose is streaming and I'm coughing uncontrollably.

My neighbours in the adjoining room must already hate me, as I've been coughing noisily every night.

How can I sing if I can't control my breathing?

My airway is congested - sometimes wheezing, sometimes gurgling.  I can't clear it.  Each time I think it's clear, it tightens up again.

All the violent coughing has thrashed my throat.  What if I can't produce a note tomorrow night?

Now, on the night before my concert in Rio, I lie on the bed convulsing, retching and gagging.  My throat is dry, burning, raging, raw.  This can't be good for singing.

I crouch face-down on the pillow, sobbing, railing at the unfairness of it.

Please, someone tell me I'm dreaming?

I have survived open-heart surgery.  I've planned for this show for three years.  I've travelled half-way around the world and assembled a team here in Rio.  We are booked to perform tomorrow night at a famous venue.

In any other circumstances, if you found yourself in this condition you would cancel the show. But what are my chances of ever setting it up again?

I can't cancel.  I must somehow overcome this affliction.  

I boil the kettle again, drink the hot water, and try to quieten my breathing..

By the time my husband arrives at 10 pm, I've calmed down a bit.  We take the group to the luxurious Copacabana Palace Hotel for cocktails.  Having been there last year, we know how to reach the cocktail lounge.  In we go, as if we own the place.  Through the big foyer, left down the long corridor,  open the door to the courtyard and saunter past the massive swimming pool.  Open the glass door of the piano bar and find a group of comfortable chairs and sofas.

We relax with some caipirinhas and bar snacks and enjoy the delightful ambience and soothing music.  Then we take the lift up to the next level to see the photo gallery showing the movie stars, royalty and other famous people (including Tom Jobim) who have stayed there.  

Hearing my hacking cough, my husband says "You've got bronchitis.  That can take weeks to get better."  This is not very reassuring.  But failure is not an option.