I Have Shingles

August 18, 2020

I thought I knew pain. While  I never have known childbirth, I have experienced a blocked, twisted and dying small intestine that morphine could not even begin to cope with.  I’ve experienced endometriosis so fierce it consumed an ovary from the inside out.  I’ve also experienced full-on surgical pain from a complete hysterectomy after the pain pump was pulled too soon – something I am still angry about to this day.

Oh, there’s been other pain too – braces, impacted wisdom teeth extractions, leg aches (“growing pains”), migraines and fibromyalgia – but they hardly bear mentioning.  I think it’s all been a run-up, a dress rehearsal, a lifetime prep for this current assault.

I don’t even want to talk about the pain.  Let some literary lion take on that description or metaphor.  I know everyone’s experience is probably different and unique to them.  And that it’s only day eight of a multi-week “process”.  But despite modern meds and starting treatment within 24 hours of initial symptoms, the pain has been unreal, incessant and off-the scale. I am thankful that months of walking 4-5 miles a day has built up my personal stamina because that is what this chicken pox disease requires.

My late father-in-law, Bob Sheets, developed shingles right after Gary threw him a big, celebratory, family-filled 75^th birthday party one August (even though his actual birthday was not until February).  Family arrived in eastern KY from PA, OH, FL and VA. It was a big deal to Gary to do this for his father, a man who had spent his life quietly doing so much for others.  However, six months later, hostage to the steely grip of unrelenting post-herpetic neuralgia, Bob’s stout-hearted stoicism broke and he called for help.  We made the trip in snowy February, and did what we could – meeting with doctors to discuss and challenge the anemic medications and half-hearted protocol for a neuralgia that had frozen his right arm and hand – but none of our efforts seemed enough.  Now in hindsight, I have a whole new understanding of his suffering, and the pain he must have been in.  I wish we could have done more.  I wish we had done more much sooner.

A long time ago, when first diagnosed with fibro — which I had a hard time accepting because I assumed it was the domain of malingerers and hypochondriacs — I was told “at least it’s not terminal.”  The same could be said of shingles.  And it is precious little comfort. 

But that’s not the complete story.  I am not alone.  I have a tender, caring husband and a small but extraordinary coterie of family, friends and colleagues who have rallied around me.  I am also fortunate to have health insurance, medical care, and access to anti-virals and other medications.  (Even if it does give me scrambled eggs for brains.)

So yes, I have shingles. And yes, pain is my constant companion.  But it is not my only companion.  Not by a long shot. 

Just don’t put off getting that new Shingrix vaccine – like I did.