Boc Boc Boc

Recovering now. And after two weeks of itching and burning, swelling and shooting pains, having the intellect of a tea-partier and the sleeping patterns of a male lion...I think I know what it is.

It's most likely what I originally thought it was, but the doctor said no it wasn't. It's what I've had twice before, what the nurse and pharmacist said it probably was...and what killed all the aliens in Ray Bradbury's Martian Chronicles.

Shingles. In other words, more or less...

Chicken pox.

So I'm sure all the antihistamines, fungicide and penicillin did some good - in treating whatever other nasty things were waiting in the background. But an antiviral would have been nice.

Anyway, as soon as the red bits and dry bits are fully cleared up, I won't be infectious anymore...and I can start on that post-40th-birthday life change thing I've been meaning to catch up on.


  1. Oh, you poor man. I had shingles, once, when I was very run down. I've never felt so ill and I still bear the scars where I scratched.

    Glad you're over it. Stupid doctor should have known better - especially as shingles reoccur.


  2. Thanks, and I know what you mean.

    I had it much worse when I was fifteen - probably the worst pain I've ever felt. I was eating painkillers like smarties.

    You had the scratchy kind? Mine was the burning kind. But I know something of you mean about scratching, because I once has scabies. Scratching so hard you draw blood just to make it stop.

    Anyway, the scars are healing, and I'm not falling asleep every few hours.