And by herpes, I don't mean the pesky crotch kind... ohhhhhh, no. Nor am I referencing the cold sore variety. Alas, the herpes that CAN go f*ck themselves are of the shingles and chicken pox species (...or is it order? Genus? Class? I sucked
the big one at science class. Just ask my friends, Jose & Fernando, who may or may not have carried my ass through multiple college chemistry classes more than I care to admit!). Those little bastards (the herpes, not my friends!) seriously have done a number on 2/5 of The Hooligans so far, possibly more to come.
The tail end of September, I woke up one day to what I perceived to be a rabid, violent, hateful spider attack on my back. Mid-sleep the previous night, I remember itching an area on my back, deciding I dreamt about this supposed arachnid bed assault, rolling over & going back to sleep. Till morning... when I woke & realized that I still itched like a mofo back there. I staggered to the john where I attempted to check out the damage, and I discovered I had a whole grouping of red, itchy, now rather inflamed bumps in an area about the size of the bottom of a pop can on the right, middle side of my back. There were a few other itchy spots trailing off toward my spine. Yep, that little shit spider SURELY plotted from above, Matrixed his 8-eyed ass down from the ceiling, obviously sought out She-who-hated-him-worse-than-any-individual-on-the-planet (AKA Yours Truly), and proceeded to
get to third base go up my shirt to feast on my back, realized he's likely busted, maniacally tried to get away, bit me 3 more times, then exited my sheets full tilt before I could ever locate/squish/throw in the toilet/pee on/flush his hairy, disgusting carcass down my likely-not-clean toilet (you know, for old time's sake!).
Spiders are sooooo evil. No really, they are. Screw that whole "They're more afraid of you than you are of them!" bullshit or that "No really, spiders are GOOD! They eat the cockroaches!" pile of crap because seriously, they're the devil's f'ing spawn. Positive.
I totally forgot about the onslaught for a few hours until it started to itch again. I pulled my best Tommy Boy to Scott: "It doesn't itch HERE or HERE so much, it's more in THIS REGION HEEEEEEERE...," pointing to said spider-bitten area. Scott's all, "You have a rash... no wonder it itches." "It's not a RASH... I'm positive I got bit by something. Likely one of those massive spiders that come in off the field -- you know, the hairy ones that if you try to stomp on them, you bounce back up because they're THAT BIG. They're like small dogs," I reply. Scott, AKA Dr. H, comes back with, "It looks like a contact dermatitis to me, or whatever the hell it is my Dad always talked about. You know, like you got into contact with something that made you break out." "Ummmm, this is a BUG BITE. Check me for fang marks. I'm positive they're there, like 29 times over."
We go back & forth about this for the next 24 hours, the hubs quizzing me like crazy about whether I changed detergent/perfume/got new sheets/got a new shirt/tag on new shirt rubbed me/rubbed up against something shirtless. Yeah, that's SO not it, hon, but thanks for the diagnosis! I've clearly been violated by a spider repeatedly, until further notice. Let me go throw up in my mouth now.
The next day I see my parents, and after recounting this oh-so-interesting tale to my Mom (I am ashamed to admit it might have taken like 15 minutes to tell... yes, I know. About a dumb spider bite. I hate those little f*ckers.). Mom takes it all in, then with a laugh says, "It's probably SHINGLES!!!! HA!"
Those 3 revolting words may just have changed the past 3 weeks of my life. Because dammit, she was RIGHT.
Days later, there were more blisters under my right boob, and holy balls, those spots itched, too. Also, I had more odd symptoms crop up like numbness, pain/hurt/tickle combo, and some odd, tingly sensation on my right inner thigh (though that might have been related to something else. Ha! Ha!). Anyway, then the blisters appeared... then they popped... then they scabbed up... but in the middle of all that bullshit, THE SHINGLES HURT LIKE A MOTHERF*CKER!!!!!!!! I recall one night Scott was out of town & it was just me home with the three kids for 5 straight nights, and I was literally BAWLING from the pain. I remember screaming, "I THOUGHT ONLY PEOPLE OVER 60 GOT THE SHINGLES!!!!!!!! I am NOT friggin' GERIATRIC, dammiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttt!!!" I finally took a
handful of few Tylenol and crashed, with Polly Pocket in my arms. (Thank GOD she slept!)
The pain was more bearable each day, and I barraged my aching body with tons of homeopathics, natural antivirals, vitamins/minerals, & healthy shit to try to kill those damn herpes once & for all. I did some checking/researching regarding the ability to pass the shingles and/or chicken pox on to someone who has not had the chicken pox, namely our three children. It was possible, I read, though probably they'd have to come into contact with the blisters themselves. Considering the fact that I breastfed all three of our kids for a combined total of 59 months, clearly my topless days are long since over. SURELY we were in the clear, right? RIGHT?!?!?
Ummmm, yeah... till this past Sunday.
Ummmm, yeah... till this past Sunday.
Yep, yep. Two weeks and one day after I got the shingles (in my 30's -- WTFFFFF!?!?!), my tiny, sweet Lola, who had been really fussy and pukey the previous 3-4 days, busted out with three blisters -- two on her back & one on her leg. I knew immediately. OMG. That herpes is some nasty, contagious shit.
|What is up with this f*ckery?! I HATE YOU, Motherrrrrrrrr!!!!!|
|Yeah, YOU. I am SO plotting evil things RIGHT NOW, beyotch.|
(Thank God for Instagram filters which make the spots not look so flippin' red...)
|Chicken pox can blow me. Anybody got a vat of Calamine?!|
Today many of the blisters are starting to scab, Polly P. let me put her down for the past hour while I worked on this blog, and she is sleeping a lot (i.e. healing!). Yesterday was a pretty miserable day for her, but I see slight improvements today. I figure I'm at T-minus 9 days and counting till the shit hits the fan with Cal & Claire. Apparently chicken pox is "highly contagious" and often times whole houses of kids get them simultaneously. Fan-f*ckin'-tastic. I feel like such an a-hole.
Alas, Polly Pox, I mean... Polly Pocket is awake, and I'm gonna go swoop her up, find a non-pox covered area to kiss (if that's possible -- they're even on her eyeballs, gums, crotchal region, tongue, & inside her ears), and feed my little spotty angel. Oh, and hopefully in all my "spare time," I can Google how to avoid also getting the gout, menopause & dementia, too.
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