How do you know if you have the Pox?

At the risk of grossing you all out, I am going to write an entry about a weird condition I seem to have developed. I will not, however, compound the problem by providing images.

As CBAM often points out to me, I really should be dead by now. I have been plagued by a lifetime of weird illnesses and medical problems (although not as weird as my youngest sister who has had most of her internal organs removed and was recently diagnosed as having both a kidney stone and several dislocated ribs, although how one dislocates ribs I know not). Ever since I got to France my skin has been behaving in not so lovely ways - perhaps from stress, although more likely from the heavily scented laundry detergent one must buy here. Alas, Tide Free has not made its way to the Continent yet and so I really have no other option than to use what they have here or not wash my clothes.

This last week, however, I have gotten little red bumps on my neck and chest. They are not behaving like pimples or a rash so I can only assume that I have somehow gotten Monkeypox, or some other variety of pox. I am no expert in medieval diseases, but I do live in the neighborhood in Paris known as the Marais (or "the swamp" in French) and in a very old building, next to the medieval quarter. Although one of my favorite history books includes details on how the French cleaned up this swamp through the wonders of a magical, modern sewer system (including free tours for the ladies and gents), I am still of the mind that the miasma of disease is still floating around my building. Hopefully, though, my twentieth century immune system will prevent me from dying, as I would have long before in the medieval times.

All of this probably goes back to my long history of allergies to very strange things. At first it was strange foods (broccoli?) and pretty much every plant that has ever grown. Then after a wilderness expedition of several weeks with the National Outdoor Leadership School, during which time I became the legendary "girl who destroyed her own feet," I developed staph infections in both of my feet, which killed off what little immune system I had left. I then proceeded to go to college in Texas (a state that I am very allergic to) and kept getting sick with strep, sinus infections and everything else. The weird part about the whole thing is that every time I would get an infection, I would also break out in a rash. Nobody could explain it until several months later I visited a dermatologist in Cheyenne (who is notorious for her uncontained excitement every time she gets to use a scalpel) who quickly proclaimed that I was in fact "allergic to infections." I then took antibiotics for several months and did in fact seem to be cured of this weird allergy.

I am happy to note, however, that I have really not had much trouble with migraines since I got to France. Perhaps it's the lack of contact with New Jersey that has saved me or just the thought that if I see one more doctor who looks at me as though I was hysterical or have a "wandering womb," I will probably prescribe myself a rest cure and then end up like Virgina Woolf (I must add that while Unity Mitford had a much more dramatic (and botched) suicide attempt when England declared war on Germany, I would rather go out like Virginia Woolf).

The good news is, I did finally get my bank card and the proper form to turn in my residence permit, although the prefecture called the FB office today to inform them that since it took so long to get this form, I must now turn in more recent documents attesting to my living situation. Grrr. It's their own damn fault for changing the rules!