A Pox On Me

About nine years ago, I went shopping. I mean I've been shopping since then, but nine years ago I did too. The reason I remember this particular excursion is because I wasn't feeling well. I convinced myself that I just needed to get some fresh air and maybe I'd feel better if I bought some new clothes.

So out I went. And I bought the most hideously ugly jeans you have ever laid eyes on. They were patchwork - layered with frayed squares of denim in varying shades. Horrible. Not acceptable in any fashion circles in any decade on any planet. I even KNEW they were ugly! But they fit and I needed to see if buying something would offset the seasick feeling in my body. I brought them home, threw the bag in the corner of my bedroom and never looked at them. And I still felt sick.

The next day I broke out in a weird rash. Chicken Pox.

The first couple of days weren’t bad. I felt mostly normal. I was just spotty and the spots didn't even itch. My boss at the time suggested we install a microphone system in my apartment so I could do my radio show from home. I agreed. I even thought it might be fun since I felt fine but just couldn't leave on account of my contagiousness. When the technicians from Bell learned why they had to come to my apartment, they dug in their collective heels and flat out refused to show up. I was a leper.

In the end, that was a good thing because soon enough, it hit me. The fever… the aches. My spots spread like wildfire and felt just as hot. They itched like mosquito bites on top of mosquito bites, then boiled into angry blisters. My joints throbbed. I was nauseous. I spent my days the same way: in the tub for hours (oatmeal baths), and on the couch for hours - economizing every movement. The tiniest brush of clothing against my skin would trigger a chain reaction of stabbing pain and the irresistible urge to scratch. I remember staring at my stuccoed ceiling, fantasizing about scraping my scabby, blistered body against its textured surface like a bear against a tree.

I was single at the time. One of my closest friends offered to bring me groceries, saying he’d already had the chicken pox. Then I told him if he was exposed to the virus, there was a chance he could get Chicken Pox 2.0 – or, shingles. He still bought me my groceries. He just left them outside my door, knocked and got the hell out of Dodge.

The reason I'm bringing this up is because we are now officially into spring. And H1N1 might have retired for the season, but this is the biggest time of year for catching the pox. I wish someone had told me there was a vaccine for it. It's been around since the mid-90s actually. I learned the hard way, but if you’re still pox-free you might want to consider looking into it. Because if you suddenly get the urge to buy ugly jeans, it might be too late.