Well kids, it never rains but it pours. Mind you, in this case it’s probably the best time for something like this to happen. As Laura reported two posts ago, I had a very sore, very lousy weekend. Now, I realized that I might have pushed myself a tad too hard, but it’s not like I had gone out running or playing a team sport, or otherwise banged my brain-pan around. What did I ever do to put myself flat on my back, exhausted and in pain?

Well, with the onset of a few spots two days ago, we think we know: Chicken Pox.

You see, I never had chicken pox as a kid. Close to a decade ago, Jon and I went and had the relatively new vaccine to more or less eliminate our chances of ever getting it. This was back when it was so new that it wasn’t covered by OHIP, and had to be administered by a tropical disease specialist.

I remember that he gave Jon the vaccine right away, but expressed extreme skepticism that I had missed it in my 35 years on the planet. He suggested, friendly but firm, that I had had a subclinical case and never knew. And while I doubted that, I agreed to a mere blood test. After all, if I didn’t have the antibody, it would be very wise to get the injection: in an adult, chicken pox ranges from debilitating (for a month or more) to life-threatening.

A few days later I got a call to return ASAP, and when I did, I was treated like the world’s first pregnant man. “Please, sit down,” he said gently, as though assassins were everywhere. I got two vaccines over a month (kids get one, adults get two), and that was that. Interestingly, they didn’t know—and still don’t—how or whether the vaccine results in shingles down the line, if indeed it does. I guess the longitudinal population is still too young. (FYI: Shingles is caused by the virus that causes chickenpox. Even after its defeat, it takes hold in nerves and stays dormant. Decades later, for some, it reawakens as shingles.)

Anyhoo, my little surprise is what’s referred to a wild-type VZV: something got through the biological radar, but in no way is it serious. The pox themselves are a mere 12 or so, clumped on my neck and upper chest. They don’t even itch, and they’re already halfway through the cycle. The worst part of it were the symptoms that compounded my concussion symptoms, just before they appeared.

So I’m just in public quarantine for a few days, until these little suckers crust over. I find bending down hard, and it’s easy to overexert myself doing minor chores, but otherwise I’m not feeling it. Anyone who has had the chicken pox before can come to visit—they’re in no danger of getting re-infected—but I can’t go out, not to the store, not to the dog park.

I’m back, more or less.

One of the odder aspects of my now-infamous fall from the ladder two weeks ago is that I have absolutely no recollection of my ladder adventures that day. I was more or less unconscious in the hospital for the first two days, and slowly came out of it after the next day and a half.

So what that means is all of Laura’s worries about me, as expressed by her and harmonically echoed by friends and family, is all third-hand. I literally was not conscious, and thus the many expressions of concerns since then have been odd and interesting.

My personal favourite is how so many females, including my wife, have tried to forbid me from ever climbing a ladder again. First off, I have no recollection of the fall, so I have no knowledge of my error. And second, one accident did not install a mind-numbing phobia this time around. I’ll be up on the ladder in a few weeks, when needs must. In the meantime, of course I won’t head up the ladder—Laura will have to, to finish cleaning the eavestrough. But I will spot her. 🙂