Shingle All the Way

We learned today that Dave has shingles. Oh, not the kind you place on a roof. The kind that started about 40 years ago as chicken pox, which laid dormant all these years, only to spring to life at the best possible time. Our weather today was treacherous--an ice storm--and Dave braved the weather to see his regular doctor and an ophthalmologist to assure him the shingles hadn't gotten into his eye [the welts are near his eye and on his forehead into his hair line]. He thought he had either the worst headache of his entire life which lasted the longest of any headache he'd ever had, or the worst sinus infection that wasn't preceded by a cold. Two days ago, his doc diagnosed sinus infection. Well, she was wrong. Tonight I brought home some pain medicine. I must say that Vicadin is good stuff.

None of the children have had chicken pox. I have quarrantined David.

But here's the kicker: he never told me the extent of his "discomfort". I swear I was treating him like a malingerer when he asked me to come home early two days ago. He's been "off" his normal cheerful self and he never told me the extent of his ailment. Man, do I feel bad about that. Sometimes it helps me to know: Baby, on a scale of one to ten, with one being feeling good and ten feeling really bad, I feel eleven. That's all I needed to know. Pain is useful in that it tells you something about your body.

I cancelled the girls' eye doctor appointment for tomorrow. Getting two 2 year olds to sit through dilation, waiting and eye exam, and one in an external fixator from her ortho surgery AND no Daddy to corral them is a bridge too far.

I prayed a lot today and found myself on my knees at the kitchen sink asking for healing, grace and peace. I rely on David so much that this burden, him being sick, is almost more than I can bear. And I can usually bear a lot.