Post Nasal Drip

He sneezed so hard that he was almost sure a piece of his frontal lobe shot out of his nose.  

This wasn't the first time he'd felt like this. A lifetime of seasonal allergies, head colds, sinus infections, and various flu bugs had prepared him for such eventualities. His first trip to London had culminated in an allergy attack, the likes of which he'd been unprepared for. Plane trees. His reaction to the pollen had been swift and brutal. What should have been one of the most fun trips of his life was spent in a tiny, rigid bed in a single room at the Dolphin Hotel. Nothing he'd picked up at the local chemist did much good, so he toughed it out the best way he knew how. Rest, fluids, and lots of tissues. 

In the twenty years since, he was never unprepared. With age, his allergies grew worse - yet somehow, the sinus infections eventually vanished. 

It seemed his wife had taken on that particular infirmity. So severe were her sinus infections, she eventually had to have surgery to correct them. The doctors had found an impacted, seemingly never-ending infection in her right nasal cavity. 

The surgery lessened her infections, but didn't clear them up altogether. She had managed to come down with 'a bug' every year at the holidays as long as he'd known her. If she wasn't sick at Thanksgiving, it was certain she would be sick at Christmas. 

Many years, gifts were exchanged in the bedroom - between sneezing fits.

Whatever this was, it was worse than anything he'd ever experienced - and he'd previously experienced three different forms of pneumonia and COVID!

He was just glad there was no appreciable fever that accompanied this. He almost half wished it did. At least he would be able to sleep. His fever dreams were often fuel for his writing. No such luck this time.

He was going through an entire family-sized box of tissues per day. Wastebaskets were overflowing with them. His wife was particularly impressed with his nasal output. 

"I went to empty the wastebasket in the living room," she said. "I was surprised at how heavy it was!" She said this, chuckling, as if it was a laughing matter.

At least the sneeze had provided a momentary respite. He could almost breathe through his nose again. It didn't last long. 

As with his bout of COVID, he'd contracted this germological infestation from her. He'd long called her "Typhoid Mary". She'd come down with something, and a week or so later he'd have it. 

He was older than she, and had never been particularly healthy. Three separate cancers left his immune system less robust than in his youth. But, he'd survived everything else so far; he was sure he'd survive this too.

Then came another sneeze. Loud, fast, and ferocious, he felt something fly out of his nostril. It was sizeable, whatever it was. The sneeze left him woozy. Not being a total slob, he looked for whatever had flown out, not wanting it stuck to the wall or soaking into the carpet. He noticed one of the cats munching on something. He walked over, shooed the cat away, and bent to pick up whatever it was. 

It looked pink and fleshy, but also slightly bloody. The cat kept trying to resume snacking on it. He just picked up the mess with a tissue - it felt warmer than it should. He took it to the bathroom to flush it down the toilet. His legs felt weak. Maybe a fever was kicking in. If so, it didn't feel like a normal fever. There were no body aches. 

The cat followed him to the bathroom. This itself was not unusual. What was out of the ordinary was his speech when he joked that the cat was a fuzzy little weirdo.

"Futhhhy lil wurdew" is how it came out. 

Thinking his sinuses must be so clogged that it was making his voice weird, he grabbed some toilet paper and blew his nose a few times. There was a small amount of blood and - what was it? Some bit of nasal tissue, maybe? He blew again. 

This cleared his breathing for a bit. He made his way back toward the couch, tripping first over the step in the back hall, and then over his own feet near the stairwell. He felt dizzy again, and sat on the bottom step.

The house was quiet except for a mild buzzing sound. It was like tinnitus coupled with a house fly - but low and constant. He realized it was coming from inside his head. 

It seemed louder after every sneeze. 

The cat curled up at his foot and there they sat, listening to the buzzing. Feeding time wasn't for at least an hour, but the cats always became extra sociable around this time. He wasn't one to be confused by their intentions. There was no love or devotion involved, just "FEED ME NOW PLEASE."

He reached down to pet the cat. He did like their feline cohabitors. Not as overly emotional as dogs, and less dependent in most ways - except for feeding time. He knew the other cat would be along momentarily. As soon as one cat decided it must be time for the canned food, the other picked right up on it.

It was barely a minute before the other, an obese house hippo of a tabby, came galumphing down the stairs. She nuzzled the back of his head.

"Whuuuuthe a goo' gi'llll?" is what came out of his mouth.

He knew his speech sounded wrong.

It struck him as funny for some reason.

He sat on the stairs giggling softly while the other cat stared up at him.

He felt the sinus pressure building and his nose was clogging again. It was almost summer, and the tabby was starting to shed. This routinely gave his allergies mild fits, but it had never been a big deal. Even now, he didn't think it was.

Another sneezing fit. Two, three, a break, then three or four more sneezes. The last one, maybe the last two, were particularly intense. He felt himself sneeze more gobs of mucus or whatever it was out of his nose and mouth and somewhere out into the living room. The cats both darted into the living room immediately afterward.

He could hear wet chewing noises for several seconds before the buzzing swallowed him again.

His wife was surprised to find the lights out when she came home from work. She was greeted inside the door by both cats. They were vocal and anxious, as if they hadn't been fed. She made her way through the dining room and into the kitchen. No sign of the cat dishes. She figured her husband had taken a nap, and had forgot to feed them. She dished out their evening canned food - 'grizz' they called it - and stepped into the hall to turn on the lights. 

When she did, she found her husband, slumped at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't look like he'd fallen - more like he'd been sitting and just slipped sideways.

She screamed. She tried to rouse him, to no avail. His mustache, lips, and chin were covered in what looked like dried blood and snot. Thinking he might have had a seizure, she dialed 911.

The ambulance was there within minutes. He was taken to the hospital. He never regained full consciousness.  

A PET Scan and an MRI were performed. What the doctors found left them stunned. 

The man had literally sneezed out chunks of his frontal lobe. Traces of gray matter, cerebrospinal fluid, and blood were found in his nasal passages. 

The man was placed in a long-term care facility. Once a month, the local animal shelter would bring cats and small dogs to socialize with the patients. Almost every time, a cat would make its way to the man's bed, and would gently lick at his nostrils. No one at the facility could explain why the cats kept trying to paw gently at the man’s nose while he slept.

The staff eventually learned to keep the cats away from him during visits. They became aggressive whenever someone tried to pull them from his bed.

copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger

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