I have spent the better part of the past few years coughing like a retired coal miner with a five-pack-a-day habit. Except the closest I’ve ever been to a coal mine is rail cars clattering past on the tracks, and I despise the smell of cigarette smoke (which made for a rough go while I tended bar in college). I digress. For a long while my condition was brushed off as asthma. Well-controlled asthma, to boot, save the fact that I constantly suffered post-nasal drip and felt like an invisible elephant was sitting on my chest. (I call her Bubbles – she’s cute but kind of a bitch.) Finally, I found…