The doctor I saw today for my persistent cough asked me why I’d waited so long to come in—it’s been more than three weeks now that I’ve been hacking away. I told him I thought the cough would go away and that I’d detected some improvement. I’m no longer coughing all night long, after all. That’s got to be progress.

Last night, though, my cough took a turn for the worse and began sounding more like it did weeks ago, during the worst of my sick days. Over the past few days, it’s also been producing some yucky stuff in my throat. And for some reason, it was a bit difficult for me to breathe while watching The Bachelorette last night. Maybe it was the anxiety about failing to see a doctor sooner that caused my breathlessness, I don’t know. But this I did know as I watched Deanna choose Jesse as her soon-to-be-husband: I had to see a doctor. Today. And so I did.

The doctor heard lots of crackling when he listened to me breathe. A chest X-ray turned up nothing significant but it’s likely I’ve had bronchitis for all this time. Armed with an antibiotic and a new cough suppressant, I’m primed for getting better—and for knowing better too. Next time a cough strikes, I won’t wait to so long. Next time, I’ll know better.