It’s official. I’m an adult. This past week I was diagnosed with the Shingles. That’s right folks, I’ve got the shingles and I’m ready to mingle (Sorry Natalie, I had to say it one more time.)
So a little over a week ago I woke up at 3:30am to go to work, you know normal working hours, and noticed I had these bumps on my neck. At first I just thought they were stress bumps (Or as everyone else calls them, pimples), but then they started to itch.
At the water-cooler, everyone stopped talking about “Homeland” and started talking about the bumps on Matt’s neck. By the end of the day, everyone had come to see the disease growing right under my ear.
“Well it’s not hives,” one said.
“It’s definitely a rash,” said another.
“He needs to go to the derm (Short for dermatologist, who knew?)”
“No he doesn’t. Just put some cortisone on it.”
So finally, after 2 days of being called anything between fine and a 2 headed monster, I made an appointment with the derm.
(On a side note, insurance is awesome. I seriously have the best insurance. See, when you have insurance, it helps you pay for stuff like medicine and doctor visits. No wonder our moms and dads made such a big deal about it. So If you don’t have some, get some.)
Anyways. The derm walks into the room I’m in, takes one look at me and says, “You have shingles.”
“The rash on your neck is consistent with shingles.”
“I thought only old people got that.”
“I guess you’re just a little ahead of everyone else.”