Chickenpox Thrice?!?

What a wonderful week for me.

First, we lose Jennifer's grandmother. Then I notice that my sudden outbreak of what I thought was zits (caused by all the stress I've been having lately) isn't just on my chest and underarms, but ALL OVER MY BODY. Jennifer noticed it first after I took off my shirt. She said, "Oh my God, Charles, it's all over your back!" I looked at a full length mirror, and see that it has spread from my chest and underarms, all the way down my sides, back and legs. It's all over my arms, too.

"Did you ever have the chickenpox?" Jennifer says.

"Yeah. Twice!" I say, remembering them distinctively from when I was a child. "I thought having them twice was super-rare, so this can't be chickenpox. It can't be."

Jennifer looks at the oldest welts, saying, "Charles. These are scabbed over. This is chickenpox."

I'm dumbfounded. "No," I say, "Who has ever had them three times? Besides, I'm a little exhausted, but otherwise I feel pretty good. Doesn't the chickenpox come with fever and all that?"

Jennifer looks it up online and points out that, indeed, I have chickenpox. Besides, I've been exhausted for a few days now and that night I get a pretty high fever. I throw up and I shake, get all clammy. The next day I'm not moving much and I can't move too far away from the bathroom. Yep, chickenpox, by God. Thrice.

Today: I'm feeling a little better. But I'm due Monday at the photography studio to take pictures of a family. Now I have to cancel. It says that your infectious from 10 to 20 days, until every welt has scabbed over.

Palm on cheek, I roll my eyes and sip my chicken soup.