Shingles

The house we're in finally goes on the market tomorrow. It's been a nice break, being able to move into a house that wasn't on the market yet, and getting a solid month of living with relatively few disruptions. The day we signed the paperwork to move it, we were informed that the homeowner, for reasons we don't know (although, I can imagine), had fired his realtor. He took several weeks to interview potential realtors (which, for both selfish and practical reasons, we approve of these steps!), including having two do a walk-through of the home to give him a valuation. He's finally found one, and yesterday she came to put a sign in the yard.


Which, because of the luck, means that Eric came down with shingles this weekend... and I don't mean the shake ones on the roof that need replaced. No, he's down for the count with a rash on his arm, plenty of pain, and a load of antibiotics. Evidentially, the stress of recent work trips, combined with a life plan that requires that he constantly be ready to receive showings and pack up and move our stuff, has finally got to him. Treatment includes lots of rest, antibiotics, and keeping the rash covered.


"Lots of rest" could be an issue starting tomorrow, depending on how many potential buyers get psyched about a mid-60's throwback.


Fortunately, shingles is not generally contagious, and transmission to those who are either immuno-compromised or whom have never had chicken pox is generally limited to direct contact with the rash. However, general advice from medical and mostly-medical sources has said to avoid young children who may not be immunized, pregnant women, and the terribly ill. Eric can go out, but I'm praying that there won't be a lot of showings this week so he can lay on the couch and recuperate, poor guy.


That to say, however, that this didn't stop me from convincing him that we should go to church on Sunday. We're looking at a new church (again, we do this every time we move in order to attend church in our local community), and I wanted to go. Eric did too, but of course was more reticent given his condition. But I convinced him, "We'll stay in the back, away from people!"


So of course, five minutes into service, an pregnant lady came rushing in and sat two seats over from Eric. As Eric tells it, "She couldn't have been any more pregnant. The fetus's hand was reaching through her belly at me, trying to grab my sores." (Note: sores were limited to Eric's upper arm, are covered in bandages, and he was wearing a long sleeve shirt. Also, the woman wasn't "that" pregnant. Also, no hand actually protruded from said belly.)


We moved.


Ugh, this could be a long week. Or two. Or however long. Pray Eric heals up quick and this doesn't get worse!