Life stops when you’re in pain.
“Aren’t you glad you don’t have to go to work?” Jerry says, hoping to make me feel better, reminding me that suffering shingles has its good points. I admit, the knowledge I’m free of the guilt that comes with calling in sick and letting your boss down because of a drawn-out illness, does ease my pain slightly.
‘Yes, Jerry,” I say. “That’s one good thing.”
I’m pretty much over the sickness that comes with shingles; the fever, the headaches, the muscle aches. I still have the itchy, blotchy red rash, the slashing-knife, nerve pain, and the tiredness. Advil helps, but I don’t want to take it the rest of my life. I’m into the third week as the shingles drag on. I’ve lived in my pajamas the entire time, since clothing causes misery and pajamas are less constricting.
