Guido fist pump! School is over! Grades are in! I SURVIVED!!!
I returned to Idaho Falls in the middle of May with the assumption that I was in for a long, relaxing, much-needed stress break…but alas…the whole first month of my summer break has done its best to kill me.
Within a few days of arriving home, I came down with a double ear infection and dust allergies from cleaning out all the old crap in my room to make room for my new crap from college. I awoke each morning with my throat and ears on fire, and went to sleep in the drugged out haze that rides on the back of allergic reactions. A large red rash began to spread along one side of my forehead, and assuming it was allergies or acne, I ignored it.
By the end of the week my room was clean and organized, but the unidentifiable rash had spread and developed an odd sensation similar to sandpaper rubbing along the nerves in my skin. That week was also painful in other ways: after a frightening night an old friend wound up in the hospital, my two only job interviews ended with a “thanks for trying, but we don’t want you,” I had to say goodbye to another friend—probably indefinitely, a couple of family feuds unfortunately heated up, and my insomnia came back.
I’m not sure if the soul has an immune system, but if it does it was just as shot as my physical one by week two. Even the weather seemed to be against me, raining every other day until flood warnings were being issued up and down the Snake River.
I finally went in to the doctor to check out the rash, which by then felt more like a sandblaster against my head and had the puckered, pot-holed appearance of severe sunburn. It took one glance for the doctor to identify my problem: Shingles, the adult version of chicken pox. The scientific name is Herpes Zostra, my medical-school brother Ryan told me with a laugh—is there anything more humiliating than having Herpes on your face???—and it could be “easily taken care of” with antibiotics. (Coupled with pain pills and my prescription for the ear infections, there were a couple of times I took upwards of nine pills daily!)
For two days I stayed home with a fever and slept, hiding my scarred face from the world until I couldn’t take it anymore and dragged myself out for more fruitless job-hunting. My other brother Jordan was getting married in a few days, and our whole family was in a tizzy trying to make the arrangements and organize the receptions. Except for my blemished face in all the photographs, the wedding was nothing short of a beautiful success, and by Monday all the time with family and friends had left me more confident to go back out and look for employment.
It was on just such a search that I hit another hitch in my perfectly-sane-and-normal-summer-plans. Or rather, it hit me. While pulling out into an intersection by a Common Cents gas station on my way to drop off applications, a large van that had been hidden by a turning truck seemingly came out of nowhere and smashed into my parent’s poor Ford Taurus—with me inside.
I closed my eyes and felt my heart stop as it hit me, and distantly I heard one part of my brain say “I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead” while another part of my brain laughed from the impossible irony of it all. The airbags were deployed and luckily I had my seatbelt on, and the people in the van were extremely kind and understanding. Somehow I walked away from that accident with no damage except for shock and a strong desire to never drive again. The Taurus faired a lot worse, and was declared “totaled” and towed away.
Two weeks later, the scar from my Shingles is all but faded away, my household has settled back to normal, and two restaurants have taken pity on me and hired me part time. But I can’t help thinking: “What next?? Pneumonia? Atomic bombs? Rabid squirrel attacks??”
While I’m finding out, I think I’ll turn to writing some fiction. Although as I’ve learned lately, life can definitely be stranger.
