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Heart to Heart


Shingles: Not The Kind On The Roof

San Diego Jewish Times, June 16, 2006                                                       .

By Gert Thaler

Thoughts that come and go in the night…

Well, I found out I am really one of The Chosen People and it has nothing to do with my being Jewish.

Like it or not, along with about a million others in the U.S.A. I got chosen to have shingles. That’s the common name for a form of Herpes, of which there are two kinds: Zoster or Simplex.

Never one to do things on a small scale — and I suppose partly because I am a full grown Jewish woman — if I can have two of something instead of just one, I say to myself, “So, why not?” except in this case I add, “Why me” to end the question.

 It wasn’t enough to have Zoster roaming up and down my back but eventually Simplex had to join in and see to it that the left side of my body got its share.

If ever I had to qualify my groan of “Oy vey!” let me tell you, it comes with the territory. Not that saying those words does anything to ease the constant pain. But raising my eyes toward heaven and asking the Guy in Charge how come I got chosen only seems to prove the point that I am a loser.

At least some good has come from it. My pharmacy has seen an economic upswing at its cash register due to a number of my visits searching for a way out of my dilemma. Except that it’s like the puzzle that shows one pathway after another and you have to try to find your way out; I have yet to see any exit signs.

Pain killers only disguise the pain. Three doctors have told me that without a doubt shingles is The Most Painful of All Illnesses for anyone to endure. The sad news is that up to now there is no known cure for its erasure.

Once someone has fallen victim to chicken pox, mostly coming in childhood, there remains the eventual chance of a shingles attack within the body, usually coming after one has passed their 60^th year.

My first encounter came about in 1968 the night Robert Kennedy was shot at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. That incident had nothing to do with my introduction to the shingles, but that is how I forever remember that first invasion of my body. The siege passed after only a week and I was able to forget about it.

However, they did not forget about me and in September of 1998 the plague invaded and for the next five months I proved that those three doctors were on the right track as to severe pain. I had packed up most of my furnishings and was about to move into a new condo I had purchased. I never finished the moving chore since socko! I was laid low and it became necessary to move into my daughter’s home for the next five months, where I remained a full time bed patient.

My escape came about when I was led through the doors of the Pain Clinic at Scripps Memorial Hospital and into the arms of Dr. Joe Shurman, who opened the gates of paradise and with his magic wand (and hypodermic needle) led me out of the hell of pain, and within days I re-manufactured my life as a well woman.

Every now and then when I am in synagogue and given the opportunity to say a silent prayer for someone special I remember to bestow such blessing on Shurman, a very knowledgeable man of medicine.

So it was a few weeks ago that once again, after spending three weeks of intense pain that I turned to Shurman, after an eight-year hiatus from his doctoring, and stretched out on a gurney table in his pain clinic I asked him to unlock his key to get me out of such discomfort. This time, the body having aged some more, it took three visits, a lot of moaning and a few more oy veys before some relief came. At least I spent a week of relief, only to sink back into this current slump.

 I’m on Celebrex now, and Vicodin as a pain reliever. I’m swallowing a couple of other pills and you can well imagine what drinking all that water does to me. Am I better? Is the sky blue?

On one of my good days I decided to go to my synagogue, Ohr Shalom, for Friday night Shavuot services followed by a joyous Shabbat dinner. Rabbi Scott Meltzer invited me to join his family table and I was seated next to his mother, Karen Rund, with whom I share a close friendship. The meal and the family were equally delicious. The occasion gave me the opportunity to meet Karen’s parents, Jeannette and Harvey Goldberg, as well as to enjoy the company of Jennifer Meltzer, our Rebbitzin, who also happens to be a close friend of my great niece in L.A.

Although we had met a couple of years ago I had not connected Jerry Goldberg, former President of Temple Beth Israel, to either Rund or the Meltzers, and was surprised to learn that, indeed, he was brother to Karen, and uncle to my rabbi.

 As if that wasn’t enough to fill my plate, I was pleased to share dinner with Dr. Eli Meltzer and his wife Suzy, sister to Karen and Jerry and the daughter of the elder Goldbergs. Even more so, since Suzy had been installed that evening as the new president of the synagogue. I have no doubts as to her strong ability to lead congregants on their road to the restructuring of the former home of Beth Israel.

But that’s not the real story of that memorable family dinner.

As we bid our good nights that evening, Karen Rund expressed her sympathies to me and her wishes for my complete recovery from the shingles attack. All during dinner she had shown me great concern for my ability to be comfortable.

 It was the next morning, on Shabbat, when she awakened and found herself a member of my club. Another Chosen Jewess.

 At this writing she too is hostess to a visit by the shingles. For her it is the right side of her body from the top of her arm to part of her hand.

 No, I was not contagious.

 We both wonder why if being good friends we were The Chosen Ones to share the same misery.

 Which gives each of us the absolute right to say “Oy Vey!”