Diagnosis: bronchial pneumonia.
Welcome to America, Zorro!
Poor dude. If I was diagnosed with pneumonia, I’d be resting on the couch, watching movies and tormenting my poor family with sorry demands for Popsicles and foot rubs — all laced with frequent cries of, “Ahem, ahem, oh god, I think I’m dying!” Doesn’t he know this is his time to milk it? And yet, all he wants to do is play.