April 5, 2012
Dear Everyone:
I feel better now.
Two weeks ago, during the monthly
ARMA dinner
meeting, my right shoulder, upper arm and elbow suddenly
ached for no apparent reason.
It had nothing to do with ARMA (Association of Records Managers
and Administrators, as if you didn’t know) or the subject (finding
electronic documents that respond to a discovery subpoena.)
In fact, it wasn’t until quite some time later that I put two and
two together.
The next morning, I noticed a small rash on my
chest. My first thought,
naturally, was:
Poison Oak?
But it didn’t itch and that’s the hallmark of Poison Oak.
I should know; I’ve had it enough times over the years.
Growing up in northern
Oregon meant always running the risk of
encountering the “vile plant” (i.e., Poison Oak.)
The fact of the matter is, you don’t have to go
cavorting in the woods to get Poison Oak.
The last time I contracted the infamous “contact dermatitis” was
on the 19th floor of a high-rise office building in downtown
San Francisco. It seems a
female scientist had been working “out in the field” and had come
directly into the office without stopping at home to shower or change
her clothes. But she did use
the restroom and transferred the infamous “oil” from the “vile plant”.
When I showed the “small rash” to “Jeannie” that
weekend, her response was, “Contact dermatitis!!!” and she jumped back
about a foot. I assured her
that it wasn’t Poison Oak, but I’m not sure she believed me.
She also recommended a visit to the doctor.
On Monday morning, when I looked in the mirror, I
had blisters the size of my thumbnail.
So, yes, I called the doctor’s office and they said they would
“try to squeeze me in between other patients.”
One of the advantages of being “retired” is that I
really can say, “I’ll be there” regardless of the time.
Not that any “really important” business meeting would have got
in the way at this point.
I was there early.
Went through the usual blood pressure, pulse, body temperature,
etc. Gave the “nursing
school volunteer” the details.
Waited in the exam room.
Didn’t even have time to open my book before the
doctor came in. He took one
look at my chest, smiled (he always smiles) and cheerfully chirped,
“Shingles!”
Then he asked what, if anything, I knew about
shingles. I knew it was
caused by a virus, was some kind of “carryover” from
Chicken Pox and was
remarked upon in a romantic mystery originally published in 1937 (Busman’s
Honeymoon by
Dorothy L. Sayers.)
And that it’s not “catching”, at least not through “casual
contact”.
He gave me two prescriptions, one for the
anti-viral that would knock out the
bug causing all the trouble (or at
least render it “dormant” once again) and one for pain relief, which
kept me from climbing the walls for about a week.
Even my hair hurt.
By this time, the rashes had also manifested
themselves on my arm and back.
But only on the right side.
For some reason, the virus can only affect one side of the body
or the other, not both.
Now, the rashes are subsiding, but the affected
skin is still tender. The
devastating headaches (only on the right side) are gone; and the muscle
pain is decidedly diminished.
In other words, I’m on the road to recovery.
In the meantime, Spring has Sprung; the greenies
and growies are budding and blossoming their ducky little hearts out.
We’ve had a series of lovely rainstorms that have washed a lot of
pollen and stuff out of the air and dumped lots of snow in the
mountains. All is right with
the world… For now.
Love, as always,
Pete
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