Not If, But When
By David Zinn
(Me, Elder Taylor, and Elder Yancy) The recent spate of illnesses in our family has caused me to reflect on some of the nastier bugs my body has battled over the years. I would say the most memorable one occurred while I was serving my mission.
I had always been told that the younger you are when you get chicken pox, the better as far as severity goes. Nonetheless, I could never bring myself to being exposed to it whenever the opportunity presented itself. The fact that I hadn’t gotten it by the time I was in high school indicated to me that I was either naturally immune or smart enough to avoid exposure until a vaccine was developed. This way of thinking, I later learned, was highly flawed. For me it was just a matter of time, and my clock ticked its last second at the most inopportune time.
I was tracting, which is something missionaries spend a lot of time doing. I had been serving for about a year, and chicken pox was the last thing on my mind…until a blister-infested child appeared in the doorway of the first house we visited. I knew it right away – chicken pox. The mother sheepishly apologized and asked us to return in a few weeks, but the damage was already done. Knowing how contagious that virus is, the ramifications of that brief exchange began to sink in. It’s like being bitten by a zombie. It’s not a matter of “if”, but “when”. And the “when” occurred three days later.
Day 1
It was a Sunday morning, and I awoke feeling a little “off”. Believe it or not, the “zombie bite” had all but faded from my memory. I got out of bed, walked over to the bathroom to do my business, and fainted. We’re talking complete blackout, no warning whatsoever. After I “came to”, I clumsily made my way over to my bed and succumbed to the enemy inside of me. Temperature: 103.
Day 2
By Monday, I was feeling much better. Believing it was just a 24 hour bug, my companion and I went about our P-day as usual. Later that day, I noticed a few itchy bumps forming on my arms. Within an hour, they had spread to my torso and began appearing on my face. It didn’t take long to figure out what was happening. My companion, taking a little too much delight in my plight, suggested we go to the pharmacy and load up on benedryl and calamine lotion. Best investment I ever made.
Day 3
The disease was clearly and quickly winning the battle against my body. I had bumps all over me. I began scratching around them, resisting the urge to touch them directly. By the end of the day, I looked like I had stumbled into a hive of bees.
Day 4
Complete and utter misery does not begin to describe how I felt. Most of the bumps had matured into the blistery stage, more were forming by the hour, and I could find no comfortable position to sit or lay down in. I had pox where I didn’t think they could be. I had them on my eyeballs (yes, you read that right). I had them in my mouth, down my throat, and in my ear. I looked completely horrifying.
Day 5 – 10
Same as above, except the blisters began scabbing over. I read the book of Job over and over again, gaining a new appreciation for the pain he must have experienced. I felt a bond with him that could not have been formed any other way.
Day 11 – 15
The worst of it was over. My companion arranged for “splits” with another companionship in which one of them had injured his leg and needed to stay off it for a while. 11 months later, he became my last companion. We would later joke about those days we spent convalescing together. I grew a beard (couldn’t shave, what with all the crusty nastiness all over my face). I used to have a picture of it, but have since lost it.
I looked pretty hideous for a while (hahaha), but the wounds eventually healed and barely a scar remains. Still, the emotional scars of those few weeks will forever haunt me. Since then, a vaccine has been developed, but I question the merits of robbing future generations of the Job-like experience that can only be achieved by diligently avoiding a disease that you eventually succumb to when it is less convenient and 100 times worse than it would have been.
I am thankful for the little challenges that we face every day, and the larger ones that (hopefully) occur slightly less often. For without them, we could not appreciate all the good that happens in our life.
(Dave-o loves whipped cream.)
Even as a young girl I loved to read. Just like every other child, summer was my favorite time of year. I would make a visit to the library about once a week; each time leaving with five to seven books. Since there was no school, I could read to my hearts content; sometimes staying up until one or two in the morning with the covers over my head and a flashlight in one hand so as not to wake up my little sister sleeping in the bottom bunk. My favorite book as a young woman was Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell. I could (and still can) read this novel over and over.
