
And who could blame her. It was covered with pustulent boils and 5-days of pre-beard growth, making me look like more of a Haight Ashbury paintball casualty than, well, just her dad.
Today as I write, about a month after my grown-up bout with the chicken pox, the boils and facial hair are thankfully gone. (About this photo at right - I've always wanted to take a picture halfway through shaving off a beard.) And while energy has returned to normal, the faintest lingering topical discolorations remain - the last reminders of two weeks of insatiably itchy, sleepless, listless and lethargic fun.
I won't dwell on the tedious pleasantries of the pox, but suffice it to say that the rumors are true that it sure can be tougher as an adult than as a kid. Of course, there are many worse things that people experience health-wise, but I can't tell you how much I wish I'd gotten the vaccine.
One friend of mine who had the pox in his 30s said, "I thought I was gonna die!" I'm not sure mine got that bad, but it was even less fun than doing taxes.
Amazingly, since getting the pox, I've discovered that our elderly neighbor, our housecleaner and our part-time nanny have never had it either. And this in The Netherlands where they basically don't believe in vaccinating against this disease, which means that if you ever set foot in a primary school or daycare, you're playing with fire.
The stats on the Centers for Disease Control website don't paint a pretty picture for adults who get the pox -- much higher incidence of complications and morbidity the older you get, especially for those over age 50. Good thing I'm still 39.
Funny, but one of the most striking memories I have of the pox was the day I got my appetite back. Somehow, the act of making (and keeping down) a fried egg and cheese sandwich as the first real breakfast in a week was such a huge pleasure. How nice it can be to feel human again. And how easy it can be to forget what it's like to be sick.
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