I have had the Bible read to me. I have read the Bible. In the summer of 1974, I read the King James Version, Genesis through Revelations, as if it was a Stephen King novel. So, when the Husband made mention of my life’s similitude to a certain tale from the Old Testament, I went back for another browse.
A photo of the first stages of Shingles
The Book of Job abridged: God has Satan over for tea & cookies, the subject of the prosperous, pious, popular Job, the goody-2-shoes son of Uz, great nephew of Abraham. Satan claims that Job’s honorable lifestyle is only security against anything bad happening to his home, progeny, BMW, house in the Hamptons, Asian rugs, art & collection of first editions. Thinking that his children might be sinners, Job makes offerings to God, just in case. Satan, looking hot in Dolce & Gabbana, explains that if God touches Job’s shit, Job will curse God.
God destroys the collections, the cars, the houses & has Job's children done in while they are all at a party. Job wails & thrashes about, but does not curse God. He shaves his head & makes a sign the reads: “God gives it & God takes it away. Will work for manna.”
Satan mentions to God: “Pass those macaroons & by the way, Job will curse your name if you do damage to that body, perfected by Job’s personal trainer, he will curse your name then, God. Mmm…these cookies are da bomb.”
God smites Job with a terrible, terrifying, tormenting rash. Job’s wife tells him that he is unhinged to not curse God. Job does not give in. His wife holds an intervention & invites Job’s buddies: Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, & Zophar the DJ. The 3 guys goad Job into stating: “I curse the day I was born!” He does not curse God.
My more advanced case of Shingles
The Husband’s point? In the last 14 months I have endured, in rather Old Testament fashion: Deep Vein Thrombosis (blood clot) in my leg, a Gall Stone, the death of my automobile, the decline of my canine-Larry, the coldest, wettest winter & spring in Portland history, & an injured back. I recently worked 16 days in a row, including several 12+ hour shifts. I never cursed God.
On Friday afternoon, I had the sensation of an uncomfortable knob on my back at a spot that I couldn’t touch with my hand or see in the mirror. I went to the physician to receive the diagnosis. Satan had needled God into some smite on Stephen. They call this scourge- Shingles. Not to be confused with Singles, a film that I appear & am delightful in.
Full Blown Shingles
Shingles: stinging, straining, sickening, stabbing torment. I questioned: "Oh my God, how could you make something as adorable Neil Patrick Harris on the Tony Awards & I have to suffer in agony? What did I do to deserve this?" I do not curse Her.*
* Steve, who frequently makes little sense, is on heavy duty Vicodin. I have been taking good care of him, but he slipped away & wrote a blog post. He is in the bathroom now, accepting a Tony Award to the mirror.
The Husband
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