I’ve never been very in tune with my body; he does his thing and I do mine.

Last year, during my multiple back injuries, the chiropractor or the physical therapists would confuse me by asking me to rate my discomfort on a scale of 1 to 10. I honestly couldn’t… my pain-grade is more of a pass/fail system.  I don’t have to be perfectly comfortable, but I have certain expectations that my body will perform various activities on my behalf; and if it can’t, it’s time to see the doctor.

I do, however, have one fundamental rule in regard to my health: unexplained rashes have to be checked out by a doctor. All other medical issues are negotiable: viruses, injuries, head trauma, chest pain… these will probably just go away on their own, but rashes must be investigated.

And so, this is how I found myself at the doctor’s office last week, for the first time in months. I was diagnosed with Shingles, which was a huge relief to me. Sure, Shingles can be a terribly painful ordeal with devastating long-term implications, but it could have been worse. What if I’d caught MRSA? That stuff is deadly. Or scabies? Disgusting!

Shingles is, at least, completely non-discriminatory. Unlike the stigma attached to those other alternative skin problems, any hygenic person who once suffered through Chicken Pox can develop Shingles; suffering with this affliction doesn’t suggest that I’m unclean or unsanitary. Sure, the painful, virus filled blisters on my stomach are not very attractive, but they’re not my fault. It’s a condition that I don’t have to hide… a plight that I can share with my friends (after assuring them that it’s not contagious)… it’s something I can blog about.

Other than the unsightlyness & discomfort, the main problem I have is how to continue pretending to be amused by my friend’s & coworker’s constant attempts to compare my ordeal to roofing or siding: “Shingles, huh? Cedar or vinyl? Ha ha ha!”  The equivalent to walking up to someone with an eye patch and asking “Too much fun & games?”… yeah, sure, they’ve never heard that one. A much more clever friend, who—it should be noted—was the first to make the joke, made a T1-11 reference which I didn’t get; and therefore I must cede to her intellectual superiority, and exempt her from this tiresome group.†

Shingles is a long-lasting illness, taking 1½ to 3 months to recover from… I wonder how long I can withstand the lame jokes? And I find myself in constant paranoia of what one of these comedians will concoct in order to set the stage for a shit-on-a-shingle reference. It’s causing me pain… real physical pain.

On a scale of 1-10?  …Couldn’t tell you.

†She’s also the only one amongst this group that reads my blog, so that might also have something to do with the exemption.  ;^D