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The Pox Has Landed
01/02/2014, 00:54

Thanks to my dear little six year old nephew, Kiwi, I am in the process of recovering from a bout of Chicken Pox.

Yes, you did read that right. I have had Chicken Pox, at the ripe old age of thirty-five. And in all honesty, it has been, without exaggeration, the worst illness I have ever had!

Fortunately, the spots are now mostly gone and havenít been too itchy, but the days in the run up to them popping out in their glory for all to see (mostly on my face, as it happens, which left me looking like I had been stung right thousand and twelve times by a particularly angry wasp and rated a 10/10 on the letís-have-some-fun-and-scare-the-local-kids scale) were monstrous.

Not only was there a five day headache to contend with - Iíve had some bad migraines and neither those or the hangovers where you swear you will never drink again if only some kind person with a rifle will come right now and put you out of your misery came anywhere near it - but the worst thing was theÖ yeah, youíve guessed it - LETHARGY.

Arrrrrrrgh! I just wanted to fling myself from a fifty storey tower block I was that lethargic. Except, of course, I couldnít have even considered getting out of my chair, let alone getting 12 miles across town to the nearest skyscraper. This was the lethargy to end all lethargies. I couldnít sleep because Iíd slept so much already, plus lying down made my head ache, yet I felt so tired I just wanted to lie down and sleep. It was the dilemma that would render even the strongest soul in tatters, a shadow of the titan they once were. I reached my nadir when, after three days solid of being in bed and bored out of my tiny mind, I finally worked up the wherewithal to get downstairs and onto the sofa with my duvet and pillow, only to realise that I desperately, desperately needed to use the loo. The loo which was upstairs and a mere few feet from my bedroom. I didnít cry, but I will be honest, my eyes glistened momentarily with heart-breaking dejectedness.

Of course Kiwi was ill for about 7.2 minutes and then bouncing round like nothing had happened. He did, however, call prior to me getting sick to exclaim with the boisterous excitement that only a six year old can muster: ďUncle Smash! Iíve got Chicken Pox spots on my nuts!Ē

Indeed. He did have the kindness of heart to realise that my suffering was, however accidental, down to his passing on his illness and made me a get well card.

A POLKA DOT covered get well card.

Still, I won the day in the end. When I saw him on Saturday I told him that Santa is on strike until 2018 so only adults will be getting presents for the next five years, haha!

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