Somebody is done. With everything.
After 18 grueling months, Rick has graduated and we've all breathed a collective sigh of relief. No more psychotic and unpredictable schedules, no more two-strikes-and-you're-out tests, no more useless research and terrible papers. The 9 hour drive to Waco was a welcome break from El Paso. We made the obligatory pilgrimage to Magnolia for my sister-in-law, who couldn't make it out because of a sick kiddo, and also stopped by the Dr. Pepper Museum. The girls liked getting a free (with admission) soda from the soda jerk. Rick's favorite stop was the Texas Ranger Museum and the unaffiliated graveyard next to it. We had some good food, hit up the farmer's market, and found a quirky little bookstore. Rick and I got all fancy for his graduation dinner. It was a good reminder that we are not fancy dinner people. All the graduates gave speeches; Rick's boss warned him that she would cut his mike if he went off-trail, but instead of throwing figurative grenades he made even the crusty old doctors teary-eyed. He's still got it.
The graduation itself was loooooong. We went to the wrong building at first because someone wouldn't doublecheck the location, but we got there in the end. There were tons of people. However, with a row to ourselves in the nosebleeds and a generous bribe of overpriced M&Ms, we all survived. The next morning we took a couple seconds to illegally ride the frosty cattle statues outside our hotel, then took off before the girls froze to the steers and things got awkward. We came home to a great surprise welcome from Rick's sister. Cake is always a great way to end an 8-hour drive.
We've also finished up the October-March holiday season with the second half of our birthdays and Pi(e) Day. I love parties, but I'm glad my kids are low maintenance. We got away with Peter Piper Pizza, the Dollar Store, and the park by the library.
We've been taking advantage of the not-scorching temperatures to go hiking. We've wandered the Lazy Cow a couple of times and even managed the 6.5 mile Tin Mines out-and-back without outright dying. The favorite has been the Smith Springs Loop up in the Guadalupe Mountains.
They were not missed.
Last but not least, I got shingles. "But isn't that an old person thing?" you ask. Yes. Yes it is. It is also an immuno-compromised thing, as well as a stress-induced thing. I woke up about a week after moving rocks to a pain on my lower right side. My anxiety screamed that it was appendicitis, but there was no swelling or fever and the pain wasn't sharp enough that I felt justified going to the ER, so I slapped the anxiety down and asked Rick for a second opinion. He poked me in the appendix. When I didn't faint from pain, he said it probably wasn't appendicitis but we'd keep an eye on it and went back to his phone. With a little more genteel prodding from me, he suggested it was probably a sore muscle or ligament from shifting rock. That seemed unlikely since it was only on one side and a week after the fact, but I don't have a medical degree so I let it slide. The next few days the pain started to shift up over my hip and into the small of my back, with increasing skin sensitivity. It vacillated between burning and excruciating itching in turns. This seemed weird for appendicitis, so I went to Dr. Google for a third opinion. Google unhelpfully suggested it was a kidney infection, but it wasn't high enough to be my kidney so I started reading the other possible options. Finally I poked Rick and said, "I think I've got shingles." He was like, "But isn't that an old person thing?" and I said "Yes. Yes it is." and he said "Huh. Got any vesicles?" And I said "That's a rather personal question." And then he rolled his eyes and pulled up my shirt to stare at my hip. "Huh," he grunted a few seconds later. "You've got shingles. Good catch." And he poked the series of tiny pink bumps that were spreading in a line over my hip and went to go get me some Valacyclovir.
Let my misfortune be your teacher. All of us old people who had chicken pox as kids forever have the virus coded in some parts of our cells, waiting for the opportune moment. 1 in 3 people will have shingles in their lifetimes. Most of them will be old (over 60) and/or immunocompromised. A special few will get it before 60, often due to a period of heightened stress. About three days before the initial discomfort, I'd had a couple pretty decent panic attacks about UFOs and a land war in Asia. I'm reasonably certain this was the final straw for my body which finally threw in the towel after the last decade of perpetually plateauing stress and screamed "F%^! it, let's just die.”
I'm now a member of an elite club with two other women I know who had shingles, all of us high-strung individuals in our late thirties. Lucky us. Anyway, thanks to an early diagnosis and the Valacyclovir I got away with a couple weeks of extreme itching and sensitive skin instead of several months of agony and neuralgia. Tylenol and Motrin didn't take away the pain but took the edge off it, and an ice pack numbed out the rest. There's still about a hand-sized portion by my spine that tingles when I touch it, but that will go in time. A pack of blessings literally light upon my back, and yes, I am happy. And tired. And very, very done being sick.
