Christmas: The Bumps

Young missionary families face all sorts of fears as they embark on their journey to a foreign land, fears of foreign diseases. So it was with my parents and as our launch date approached, my brother and I were pricked and prodded with vaccines and shots to help our immune systems prepare for the disease ridden jungles. Nevertheless, vaccines and shots cannot protect against everything, so before we left the US, anytime my Mom would hear of a child who had been diagnosed with the measles, mumps or chicken pox, she would rush my brother and I over to the house for a play date. Amazingly, neither of us ever contracted those viruses.

In retrospect, those health concerns were laughable. I regularly drank water out of the tap (a cardinal sin in remote areas, all drinking water was supposed to be boiled a minimum of 10 minutes to kill all the flotsam and jetsam) and dined off and on with my friend’s families. How I never contracted ameba, dysentery or any of the other diseases that put the fear of God in the adult missionaries, I’ll never know. Though, I often wonder if my large appetite is because I’m eating for two. Anyway, back to the program…

Having survived the Philippines relatively healthy and returned to the US to discover that it was possible to have cuts and abrasions that didn’t get infected; I figured I was in the clear. Maybe I had an uber-immune system, able to fend off anything. Then the bumps appeared.

It was my third month as Business Manager at Grace, the middle of December. I was in the midst of the steep learning curve and trying to fit in with my co-workers. I distinctly remember going to get the mail one workday afternoon and feeling extra chilly when I got back to the office. I finished out the day, went home and headed for bed. I was exhausted. The next morning I noticed little bumps on my arms. I think I called in sick that day and eventually went to the family doctor. After the visit, I was asked to leave through the back door.

Thinking this could not be that big of a deal, I didn’t bother to pick up the prescribed pain medication, after all, I had survived every other disease; I could handle this. I was about to be humiliated like never before in my life. I itched so badly that night, I was ready to peel my skin off like an orange peel. Fortunately, I had picked up some Aveeno, but that only provided temporary relief when I was completely in the solution. I ran around the house trying to find a straw to use as a snorkel, but that didn’t prove to be effective. By now it was pushing 3 a.m. I hadn’t slept a wink. In desperation I cooked up a batch of oatmeal and plastered my arms, I was going to try anything to reduce the itching. I barely survived the sleepless night, asked my wife to fill the prescription first thing in the morning and stayed drugged up for the remaining 2-3 weeks.

A veteran of the foreign missionary field and having been exposed to the virus several times, I succumbed to chicken pox in Lititz, PA. I presumably picked it up from our school or daycare ministries – one of the occupational hazards of working at Grace. Fortunately, the virus had passed by the time Christmas rolled around. I still haven’t had the mumps or measles and having had chicken pox, I’m now on the list for shingles. It was definitely one of the most bizarre Christmas seasons I have ever had and a time in my life I don’t think I’ll ever forget.