Blogs

Somehow, I managed to avoid getting the chicken pox during my childhood. Never thought much about it, since I'd suffered through measles, mumps, appendicitis, tonsillitis, head lice, two broken arms, pneumonia, allergy shots and a few hard knocks on the head. I thought I'd caught a break.

However.

One day, my 3-year-old daughter came home from preschool with some red itchy spots that quickly spread all over her body. I was home with a baby, living in a new neighborhood where I didn't know anyone very well, and my husband was out of town on a business trip. My sister hadn't had chicken pox either, so she couldn't come over to help me. I polled other local family members and the couple of neighbors I'd just met to ask if they would go to the store for me, since I was under quarantine and out of milk. After a few days of baking soda baths and medicine for the itchies, my daughter started to recover. But I had clearly been exposed. I noticed something that looked like a blister on my shin. Just a tiny little blister…

Oh. My. God. Within hours, I was covered with a crazy itching rash that found its way into every nook and cranny and covered my scalp. And I was nursing a baby! Did I mention that my husband was NOT AT HOME?!

He finally returned to find a murderously irritated wife who spent hours up to her neck in the bathtub, running through boxes of baking soda by the dozen. No looking in mirrors, no catching my reflection in a window. Just a quick slide into the tub with eyes closed, praying for the misery to end.

When things had reached a sort of pox plateau, I asked my husband if I looked really terrible. He paused just a little too long before he answered. Oh, it was bad.

And then I found a tiny little blister on the baby's bottom while I was changing his diaper. Well, what did I expect? Here, a gift from Mom - chicken pox! No need to thank me.

My son had the lightest case of all, thankfully. I don't think he even noticed, but I still felt terrible about passing it on to the little guy.

The advice nurse at the pediatrician's office stifled a laugh when I told her I had the chicken pox - at age 30. She tried to make me feel better by telling me that she'd just heard from a boy who'd missed his senior prom because he had them. This did not make me feel better. Not at all. You should not laugh at anyone who has the chicken pox. Ever.

The following week, I got a call from a dad whose daughter went to the same preschool as ours. His wife had just come down with the chicken pox. "Can you help her?" he whispered into the phone. "I think she's ready to jump off the roof." The story of my plight had apparently made its way through the preschool grapevine. I was the expert on this now.

"Let me talk to her," I said.

I don't remember exactly what I told her, but I heard that she followed my advice. I believe she spent the next few days in the bathtub with a box of baking soda and a nice bottle of Cabernet.

- Risa Nye

The essays and articles of Risa Nye have appeared in local and national publications, and in several anthologies. She's currently writing about cocktails under the name of Ms Barstool for www.berkeleyside.com. She co-edited an anthology called Writin' on Empty: Parents Reveal the Upside, Downside, and Everything in Between When Children Leave the Nest. Her next book, she promises, will have a shorter subtitle.