The pains of dealing with pain

I've limped into 2024. Shingles has damaged me ... both physically and mentally.

l admit I’ve become somewhat dubious about vaccines. There are more than a few who share my sentiment.

It has not always been this way. As a toddler, I was part of the first generation to receive the new polio vaccine in 1957. I still bear the circular scar on my arm from the smallpox vaccine. As a parent, I dutifully made sure my sons’ immunization records were current.

But in the aftermath of the COVID debacle — the bungled response by the government’s medical establishment … its contradictory messaging … booster pimping (what is it, up to 10 now?) … and officious censorship of COVID criticism by the U.S. intelligence community (see: Twitter Files) — my trust in institutional guidance on health matters has eroded.

What’s more, twice in January 2021 Big Pharma made me violently ill, however temporarily. I’d been in pristine health for five years. Not even a hint of a sneeze. But after both times Moderna’s potion was injected into my body I got so sick I felt I was Knock Knock Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.

But I’m not talking about COVID here. Never ended up getting it. I did my civic duty, and I’m not going there again.

I’m talking about the Shingles vaccine, called Shingrix. It has been readily available and freely offered by my primary physician.

My vaccine hesitancy was in play. I always deferred.

I shouldn’t have.

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So what happened?

On or about December 2, I felt a rash forming on the back of my left leg. Dry skin, I thought. Maybe an allergy? But I don’t have allergies.

The rash grew in intensity, but I didn’t pay real attention for another day or so. Finally, I dropped trou, turned around, and looked in the mirror.

I was shocked. There was the angriest-looking scourge I’ve ever seen on my person. Blood-red blisters ran in a line from my butt to my knee. It looked like one of those 15th-century drawings of The Plague.

I’ll spare you the gruesome pictures I took.

Then the real pain set in. Hard pain ... deep pain ... in my glute (butt) and left hamstring, like I’d torn a muscle. My left calf turned molten, burning from the inside out.

The worst came a short time later. My left foot went numb ... as if it went “asleep” and never woke up. I could barely walk.

Is this …. Shingles? Does it do this?

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Complications: “Messages of Pain?”

I Googled “Shingles.” Google’s new artificial intelligence gremlin —ingeniously called Google AI — returned this response:

Cause

Shingles is caused by the varicella-zoster virus (VZV), the same virus that causes chickenpox.

Symptoms

Uncomfortable rash causing irritation, itching and burning sensations. Can appear anywhere on the body, usually around the torso. Typically lasts 2-4 weeks.

Then, almost as an afterthought …

Complications

For some people, shingles pain continues long after the blisters have cleared. This condition is known as postherpetic neuralgia. It occurs when damaged nerve fibers send confused and exaggerated messages of pain.

Shingles progression … Postherpetic neuralgia (far right)

Confused and exaggerated messages?

These were neither confused nor exaggerated. They were soul-sucking nuclear fireballs of pain. Wrath of God-type stuff. Sitting was agonizing. Walking was worse. Sleep was impossible.

It was time to see my doctor.

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Diagnosis: “I’m a dumbass”

On Day 4, I went to my primary doctor for an emergency visit. I’m on a first-name basis with my primary. The conversation went like this …

Me: “John, I’ve got a problem.”

John: “OK, let me take a look.”

(I drop my pants, exposing the affliction)

John: “Looks like you have Shingles.”

Me: “No shit!” (Yes, I said that)

John: (flipping through my medical records) “So did we give you your Shingles shots?”

Me: (ruefully) “No.”

John: “Why not?”

Me: “Because I’m a dumbass.” (Yes, I said that, too).

Dr. Carr (professional name) informed me that the Shingles virus attacks the internal nervous system wherever the surface rash appears, more specifically the somatic nerves that involve “conscious activities” … like walking.

He prescribed an antiviral and Gabapentin for the pain.

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“You’ve got some nerve! (problems)”

It’s been two months now. The pain has subsided to a fair degree, but the neurological damage lingers. And it’s causing big problems.

You don’t think about kinesthetic movement. Your brain commands and the body obeys. Reach for a banana, and your arm and hand do it without hesitation.

The same goes for the ambulatory process of your lower limbs. Step straight with one leg, and the other dutifully follows. You take it for granted.

But foot numbness changes all that. Having no sensation means you have no solid base for footing. Combine that with calf stiffness (also just nerve damage) and each stride becomes treacherous.

Think of walking when your foot “falls asleep.” But mine is not temporary, it’s 24/7. I have to consciously “feel” for balance. In stepping off my left foot, I stagger left, or right, in every direction except straight. Falling is a distinct possibility.

Imagine John Wayne in True Grit, only drunker.

Neurologist: “It may be permanent”

Eventually, I saw a specialist, a neurologist, for further assessment and testing. The results were not good. The tests revealed extensive nerve damage from the high ankle down through the foot. It also showed significant atrophy of my left calf muscle.

Recovery time would be lengthy, probably months. But then came the shocker:

“The numbness in your foot may be permanent.”

I didn’t take the news well.

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“What If …”

This ordeal has put me face-to-face with the reality of aging and infirmity. Those who know me know how hard I’ve worked to strengthen my body and maintain a premium level of fitness. I am strong, active and highly mobile.

Well, have been mobile.

“Beast mode” at 68

But the words “may be permanent” taxed me mentally as much as the physical discomfort.

I don’t mind getting old. I do mind feeling old. What if this is permanent?

I think the humana corpus is a marvelous organism, and for several years now I’ve trained mine for strength and durability. But I also understand the concept of entropy, and that life gets more complicated with time.

Still, I couldn’t wrap my head around this attack. Shingles usually strikes when the immune system is compromised, by stress, co-morbidity, etc. But as a pensioner and widower, I have no stress. I’m in robust shape.

How could this happen? Because I’m old?

Then it dawned on me:

How many people my age suffer from far worse illness?

One of my sisters-in-law, four years younger than me, is battling colon cancer. Another sister-in-law has had a mastectomy.

I know of people who have heart disease … others who’ve had strokes … diabetes … arthritis or osteoporosis … COPD … Parkinson’s Disease … knee and hip replacements … respiratory and pulmonary disorders … even early-onset Alzheimer’s.

And here I am, whinging on about hobbling a bit? And worrying about something that may happen?

Time for a reset. Time to count my blessings. Time to show some grace. Time to grind through this for a few months.

And time to stop being a dumbass.

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Jim Geschke was inducted into the prestigious Marquis Who’s Who Registry in 2021.