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We had spent months taking all manner of medicine—from OTC to prescribed and back again. Naturally, we ignored our own advice to ‘simplify’ and just kept adding potions to our pharmacy-in-a-cottage. Both of us ended up developing a cough so persistent it began to feel like a third roommate. The symptoms ebbed and flowed with all the predictability of a moody tide chart. Just when we thought we were better—cough.
On a call with my brother, we bonded over our shared inheritance: not land or stocks, but a fragile respiratory system and mutual distrust of pollen. He noted that he had spent months last winter unable to shake a never-ending cough. He advised getting an old-fashioned vaporizer. He swore up and down that it was the one thing that actually worked for him.
I was skeptical. It just seemed too…simple and possibly effective. Which obviously raised red flags. Besides, he lives in the Nevada desert, where the air is dry enough to mummify fruit. I live in North Carolina, where the humidity can be sliced and served with a garnish. But desperation is a great motivator. One minute you’re scoffing at home remedies; the next you’re in aisle seven, price-comparing steam machines like a wellness guru.
Apparently, vaporizers have evolved. I half expected to find one with Bluetooth and a playlist. We were pleased to see the modern version simplifies the use of the menthol with water. Today, you just drop a little pre-treated pad into a special slot or pour liquid in a well on the tank specifically made for that purpose. Gone are the days of scooping menthol goo with a butter knife like some deranged apothecary. And no more smearing mystery balm on your hands, then brushing your eye and seeing your life flash before it!
The most shocking part? It worked. Like, actually worked. As Willie said, with a relief bordering on romance: “You didn’t turn over and cough in my face once last night.”