So, what have I done with my first week of freedom?
Well…. Relishing the warmth of our feathery duvet for starters whilst running through a mental ‘to do’ list to keep thoughts from turning to what I would have been doing at this very moment if I’d been back in the office. Saddo. Let it go. Now!
Utopian dreams of early retirement have been rudely scuppered by an unexpected sudden bout of shingles no doubt brought on from stress at the thought of having absolutely nothing to do. It came on rapidly, a Usain Bolt out of the blue.
The irony has not been lost on me. Here I am on my first week off work and all I’ve done is rest or dab gloopy calamine lotion on a super-itchy sore looking rash that appeared across the top of my left booby and armpit. Hardly the glamourous life of a retiree I’d imagined. I should be painting walls, digging up the garden, wild swimming or hunting capybaras not looking in the mirror every few minutes trying to figure out if my buboes are spreading.
Is this God’s punishment for idle loafers who should be spending their time in productive employment rather than dreaming of lazing around in the garden?
Having managed to get an urgent face to face appointment at the GPs, the lovely lady doctor proceeded to give my bouncing Berthas a jolly good fondle before prescribing a course of super-strength antivirals called Aciclovir. ‘Take five of these every day’ she smiled sympathetically quickly ushering me out with a barge pole to minimise risk of contagion and so she could fumigate the consulting room before the next patient.
Shingles is no fun. Awful calamine lotion aside, it’s the minor electric shocks rippling across your skin that leave you feeling frazzled. Now I know what it’s like being a fly near one of those electric bug zappers. Ouch! Itch! Dab! Not only do I look like an extra from a zombie apocalypse movie but Aciclovir gives you the stinkiest farts so I smell like a dead rat too.
Still, it’s not all bad news. I have to keep reminding myself that whilst I might not be full of the joys of spring, I have officially retired and that’s a bully bonus in itself.
Utopian dreams of early retirement have been rudely scuppered by an unexpected sudden bout of shingles no doubt brought on from stress at the thought of having absolutely nothing to do. It came on rapidly, a Usain Bolt out of the blue.
The irony has not been lost on me. Here I am on my first week off work and all I’ve done is rest or dab gloopy calamine lotion on a super-itchy sore looking rash that appeared across the top of my left booby and armpit. Hardly the glamourous life of a retiree I’d imagined. I should be painting walls, digging up the garden, wild swimming or hunting capybaras not looking in the mirror every few minutes trying to figure out if my buboes are spreading.
Is this God’s punishment for idle loafers who should be spending their time in productive employment rather than dreaming of lazing around in the garden?
Having managed to get an urgent face to face appointment at the GPs, the lovely lady doctor proceeded to give my bouncing Berthas a jolly good fondle before prescribing a course of super-strength antivirals called Aciclovir. ‘Take five of these every day’ she smiled sympathetically quickly ushering me out with a barge pole to minimise risk of contagion and so she could fumigate the consulting room before the next patient.
Shingles is no fun. Awful calamine lotion aside, it’s the minor electric shocks rippling across your skin that leave you feeling frazzled. Now I know what it’s like being a fly near one of those electric bug zappers. Ouch! Itch! Dab! Not only do I look like an extra from a zombie apocalypse movie but Aciclovir gives you the stinkiest farts so I smell like a dead rat too.
Still, it’s not all bad news. I have to keep reminding myself that whilst I might not be full of the joys of spring, I have officially retired and that’s a bully bonus in itself.
Just keep taking the tablets and try not to scratch. Dab me!