I appreciate all your thoughts though:
Adrienne called it, "the grandma and grandpa illness."
Jon said, "so what's next, a bed rest, bed pan, and bed sores?"
Mark said, "hey grandpa, can I use the Buick?"
Rich said, "if you bust your hip next, I'll wheel you around town."
Karen offered, "if you keep me in your will, I won't hide your meds."
Dave said, "I can use your cane to scratch your sores."
Thanks, guys. Thanks a lot, OK. I get it.
The FAQs:
Q: Where is it?
A: My shingles runs along a nerve that apparently starts/ends near my ear, runs by my left eye, up my forehead, and over the top of my skull.
Q: What's it like?
A: It varies between tingling (the kind of tingling that you reflexively scratch - big mistake) and sharp, icepick like stabs.
Q: Sorry about the pain, does it hurt a lot?
A: I don't care about the pain. As long as I know what's going on, the pain is fine. In fact, the pain reminds me that I'm alive. The trick is the tingling that you reflexively scratch. It's like taking your very own icepick and jabbing yourself. Ha! Kind of funny. And, since I have an unrelated cough, that sometimes causes a jolt. It's a laff riot, really.
And, unlike, say pain in your knee where you may be causing further damage, this is just pain. No further harm, no tumor, etc. Just a goofy nerve.
Q: What's the worst part?
A: Well, the cure is somewhat worse than the illness. One side effect of the antiviral (coupled with one side effect of the antibiotic from my bronchitis) is diarrhea. Lucky, huh? Oh, and spaciness. And, fatigue. And, gurgling tummy.
Q: What have you learned?
A: I have learned that everyone has either had shingles (mostly for no apparent reason) or know someone who has had shingles.
I have learned that the perception is that the pain is intolerable. I'm sure the illness varies in intensity and that people vary in terms of personal pain tolerance, but people are wussies. It's just pain. It's not gonna kill you.
The nurses were soooo surprised that I didn't want more morphine after my appendectomy. They were all, "but it says here you're supposed to have another shot." I was all, "but I want to get the hell out of here." Bring me an Advil. That's another cure-is-worse situation. It's harder to recover from the haze of the narcotic than it is to power through a little boo-boo.
So, what's a little stabbing in the skull between friends?
So, who you calling grandpa? I got your grandpa right here [grabs crotch a la "Bad" era Michael Jackson or the "Express Yourself" Madonna]. Maybe I can get a handicap parking permit though...
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