I Got Shingles and I’m Disgusted With Myself

Lessons from being shingled out.

I got shingles and I am disgusted with myself. I am 41 years old and no offense, but I thought shingles was for old people. 

I did and didn’t see this coming, and that’s why I’m disgusted. The past few weeks leading up to the onset of the shingles, I started noticing the circles under my eyes were darker and deeper. The wrinkles in my forehead seemed more prominent. Pressure at work increased. My oldest came home with some kind of crud that made it through hubs, my son, and then me. 

I could even see it in my writing - not ever running again? The malaise of not seeing the sun in two weeks added an extra layer of doom.

Also around this time the baby upended her sleep habits and went from rage koala to velociraptor status. She would scream unless I picked her up, she would scream unless I was touching her, she would scream going down to bed, and she would cry out in the middle of the night multiple times. Not an “I’m hurt” scream, or an “I’ve pooped” scream, or a night terror, but a “I’m indignant I am alone in this dark (lovely and calming! with ocean waves white noise air filter!) room without leeching on to my host” scream. Logically I understand that I am not supposed to “take it personally” and “it’s not directed at me.” But come on, how am I not supposed to take it personally when the creature that grew inside me for nearly one whole trip around the sun screams in my face? I can’t “tune it out” or “disassociate.” I’m not that kinda girl. It’s hard for my fragile little heart to hear. It’s like Drogon moved in there and shreds my heart muscles with every scream. I think the screaming awakened the chickenpox virus that nestled itself at the base of my spine since kindergarten and brought forth the shingles.

It started with a weird, painful, open-blistery pimple on the right side of my chest just inside of my bra strap. I didn’t think anything of it, other than it hurt. Two more showed up on my back in line with my bra strap.

“Huh, maybe I’m not washing these old, ratty nursing bras as much as I should,” I thought. I made a mental note on my shoulda list to get some new bras. Then I got stuck in a decision doom-loop about bras: should I try that Thirdlove bra I had which I liked but I need to get measured, and maybe I should just go to Nordstrom and get fitted again, but what if they aren’t as good at fitting as they used to be…Emily, it’s Nordstrom they are good, but Emily, the pandemic could have impacted their bra-fitting program. When would I find the time to go to Nordstrom? They could do it better there than me measuring myself at home and those straps on the Thirdlove bra were not really non-slip…where was that email from Kim France about bralettes I meant to save? I put the dirty, ratty bra in my laundry pile and pulled out a clean, ratty bra. 

Hubs looked at the sores and said it looked like a bite. My stomach turned. What causes this kind of bite?! It was the line of five painful zit blisters on the inside of my shoulder that confirmed it. Heart thoroughly shredded, Drogon set up shop in my nervous system and his claws pierced through my skin. 

I emailed my nurse practitioner - what is this and if it is a bite I don’t think I can handle it! When the claw marks got worse I went in for an appointment. Every time I go to the doctor I’m asked to fill out a mental health screening form. The questions include, are you tired? Do you have a hard time doing activities you enjoy? 

I am both appreciative of and incensed by this form. I am glad they are screening for mental health, but for me it also underscores the challenges of motherhood and how it’s approached in society. They handed over the clipboard when I checked in for my visit and I filled it out as follows: 

I am a mother of three children under ages seven and under. One was born at 29 weeks, one has Down syndrome, and one was just diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Since we don’t value caregiving as much as say, football, in our society, to answer your questions - YES, I am tired. YES, I have a hard time doing activities I enjoy because it’s hard to find the time to do those activities amidst the laundry, dishes, paperwork, medical appointments, navigating the BUREAUCRACY like filling out this form, and working. The case is always made that there is not enough money to support caregiving. You know what is actually the biggest economic engine in the WORLD? Moms. You know those stickers that say no farms, no food? I am going to start one that says - No Moms? We All Die. No Moms? No more eyeballs for the Zuck and Big Social. No Moms? No more workers to send Elon to space. No Moms? No more ‘Zon Prime customers. So it’s kind of a big economic deal to support caregiving. So thanks for your survey, I appreciate it and also shove it. 

I didn’t fill it out that way. I ranked it and put - mom of three 7 and under, smiley face! - next to tired. While I was waiting, instead of looking at my phone I laid down in an awkward reclined cobbler’s pose on the table and closed my eyes. I gave myself a gold star for resting.

My PRN Trish came in, looked at me and said, “that is one weird f-ing rash. The random spots don’t look like shingles but the line on your shoulder does. We’re going to treat it as shingles and I’m giving you an antiviral so it doesn’t get worse because it can cause nerve damage.” 

I asked her why I got this. 

I said, “Trish, I’ve been covered in puke and poop from norovirus while pregnant. I stayed in the hospital multiple times for multiple nights during peak COVID spikes. And I get THIS?” She confirmed it was likely brought on by stress and that the virus lies dormant in your body from chickenpox. I didn’t remember chickenpox being that bad. I just remember being covered in calamine lotion and laying on the couch watching Nickelodeon all day. 

Antivirals in hand, I went home to try and rest. I texted my best friends with the update: “Ugh. Disappointed in myself for not taking better care of myself.” I just wrote this whole piece on shouldas, and a lot of them had to do with going to bed earlier and self-care, and I concluded the piece with not paying too much attention to the shouldas, but here I am with shingles and maybe I shoulda listened to the shouldas a little more closely! 

My best friend texted me back with (direct quote), “part of the reason you have shingles is that you are also feeling guilty that you let yourself get shingles. Go Lay. The. F. Down.” 

To show them I am a good little friend and can do what I’m told, I texted them later that same evening at 8:16 PM and said, “I will be going to bed in about 15 minutes to sip some hot chocolate and watch GBBS (Great British Baking Show). And shingles f-ing hurts.” 

I made a valiant effort to rest. I did. I took my medicine and did Yoga With Adriene’s Yoga for Lymphatic Flow, Detox Yoga, Yoga Rinse, and Yoga Wash throughout the week (not all at once). It hit me doing all of this yoga, that I have not had a good sweat in almost a year. When I was running, I had a chance to sweat out impurities and get a good cleanse that I just can’t achieve no matter how many “yoga wash” videos I do. This is not based on anything scientific, but having shingles made me take inventory of times when I feel better and sweat has something to do with it. 

Now, I know what I’m thinking…you just had shingles and now you are going to start rigorous exercise again, Emily? Yes, Emily, I am. We need it. So how about three times a week we start out walking for five minutes, running for two at six mph, walking for three minutes, running for three minutes, and walking the rest for a total of twenty minutes? We will be good about stretching and do our core and yoga on off days. Okay? Okay. 

And now I am wearing a brace on my wrist for tendonitis. Probably somehow related to the shingles. It’s on the same side as the Drogon claw marks, which eventually faded away to skin-colored bumps that actually look more like bug bites. 

I got over shingles and I got over being mad at myself. Being shingled out reminded me of a shoulda that’s important. Sometimes I should get quiet and listen so I can separate out the good shouldas from the not gonnas. 

What do we think, No Moms, We All Die merch? 

What happens when you’ve had time to really listen? 

Ever get mad at yourself for something you saw coming but didn’t really SEE coming? 

I just read an article about getting rid of all metaphors because I’d lose my audience and metaphors are for poets. I re-read this piece for the fifth time and kept the Drogon metaphor in. How did it land?

No moms? No one to purchase “Let it Flow” from the ‘Zon…you can also get it on Bookshop.org.