Last year, on or about December 22nd, I was diagnosed with shingles, also called herpes zoster, within 48 hours of noticing a red, itchy rash and small fluid-filled blisters on my inner thigh. I did not experience a lot of pain but my doctor prescribed acyclovir and triamcinolone acetonide cream for the blisters. If that wasn’t bad enough, the doctor told me I could not attend Christmas services at my church because I may be seated near someone who was pregnant or was on a cancer drug. Nor could I be around my grandchildren for about 10 days as the two youngest had not yet received their chicken pox vaccinations. I was devastated and basically quarantined which caused me to have one of the worst Christmases ever.
I took down the Christmas tree and the most of the decorations which I had joyfully put up before the shingles. It made me even more depressed to look at them. One of my neighbors graciously invited me to join her at her daughter’s house for Christmas, but I just wasn’t up to it. It would be over two weeks before I celebrated Christmas at my home with my family. They were fearful of contracting or passing on the zoster virus.