Childhood Terror 2

Chicken Pox. The mere mention of it sent terror through a household. The state of medical research in the 50's was, well, not as advanced. So, as a four year old boy living in Augusta, Ga., I was put in a dark room (in some cases, there is a sensitivity to light), and quarantined. That, in itself, was terrifying. Of course, having measles and mumps was no walk in the park, either. But it is one of the few memories I can clearly see in the mind's eye from early in childhood.

Apparently, when one has chicken pox, or vericella zoster as it's called by the medical community, the body's immune system will eventually crush the virus. In many cases, the virus just goes into hiding, or dormant, and stays there. Often, in later life, the little booger gets a wakeup call from somewhere and rears its ugly head. This, my friends, is called "shingles". This is a holy terror reserved for those getting on in years. Getting on in years, for those in their twenties and thirties, is when you race (at the speed of light) through your 50's and beyond.

This week, I felt a rough patch on my back above my right shoulder. It was tingling but I thought at first it was from all the sun I've gotten while painting the house. Then, I began to obsess that I had skin cancer. I remember my father getting little cancers cut out of his skin every so often. I mentally inventoried my life insurance policies. I called my Doctor and got in immediately. Dr. Schramm, an excellent diagnostician, came into the room, saw me reading a statistical review of cancer cases in the United States, looked at my shoulder and said dispassionately, "Ah, shingles." I showed him the cancer magazine and he shook his head and simply said, "No." While greatly relieved, I asked him what this meant, this "shingles" diagnosis.

"Well, it's obviously a mild case. Any itching?" "Not much - just tingling", I replied. I showed him the pea-sized place on my right wrist and he just sat down at the computer and typed in "dermatologic" and then "vericella zoster". He prescribed acyclovir, an antiviral and a skin cream. As I walked out, my wife, Steffi called. "Well, how did it go?" she asked. "I've got six minutes to live," I replied. She didn't laugh. "No, I've got a mild case of shingles." "How do you feel?" she queried. "Like climbing up on the roof and laying in an integrated pattern," I joked. She repeated it for her friend, Candice. That did get some guffaws.

Some I told of my malady looked at me like I had told them I had six minutes to live. They all had stories of untold misery and suffering of their family and / or friends. My only comment was that I may have lucked out, as it wasn't all that bad. My next question to them was if they had ever had chicken pox. You see, apparently, most people having had chicken pox built up an immunity against vericella zoster. But no, not me. My vericella zosters were were just laying in the weeds (ganglia, to those with an interest in accuracy), ready to fire back into the blood stream at the most opportune time. This, as it turns out, is the opportune moment for attacking my nervous system for Mr. Zoster.

Thankfully, having gotten in early to my doctor and getting on the anti-viral meds, I should be OK inside of a week. The term "shingles", however, evokes such a horrific specter of pain and discomfort, I'm probably going to avoid all social contact for the term of this infection. Having found out about my disease, the usual suspects who stop by the house will suddenly have all kinds of excuses about not coming by. I understand.