I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE ROOFING KIND

A few days ago Chris noticed a rash on his side. It was blistery and red and I didn't know what it was, so we put Benadryll on it. But it didn't get better. Instead it got worse and started to spread. We had this conversation at stop lights on Monday because we were on the scooters. He thought he might have shingles. I was like "No way!"; only old people get that. He figured it was shingles because the info he'd found online. A lot of time I feel that seeking medical information online can lead to a heap of hypochondria. But I got online that evening and within seconds of glancing at the first picture, agreed that Chris had shingles. The doctor confirmed it this morning and put Chris on a bunch of steroids and told him to stay away from small children, pregnant women, and the elderly.

He feels fine other then the fact that he has a painful itchy rash on his side (think chickenpox for adults). But neither of us can stop saying "shingles" in this totally exasperated and amazed way. Chris never gets sick. Never. He gets a cold and it might last a day or two, but that's it. I've never known him to go to the doctor to get antibiotics for a sinus infection or strep. He's usually driving me to the doctor for those kinds of things. That's our normal routine. Chris started getting a really bad cold just as we were leaving for Portland that turned to an extremely bad cold (I think sinus infection) while we were there. We're both pretty sure that this compromised his immune system and then add in the stress of being back here and working out our new budget. Bam! He's got shingles. I'm tempted to duck tape oven mitts to his hands just for the fun of it.

Shingles?!?!?!?