Hartley Neita MUMPS. MEASLES. Chickenpox. I have had them all. Not once, but twice each in my lifetime.
The first time, I was told, was shortly after my baby years. I don't remember those bouts, but I was told subsequently that I was quarantined for three weeks. Each time my younger sister and brother also caught the diseases.
I thought that having caught them once I was immune. There was, however, a second time when I was in my mid-teens. At that age, like all boys, I was very sensitive about how I looked to girls. For the mumps, my lower face was distorted and I was worried that it could remain so for the rest of my life.
The measles gave me freckles, especially on my nose and at the corner of my lips and I feared I was not going to be handsome anymore.
HORRIBLE BOILS
It was the chickenpox, however, which frightened me most. There were these horrible boils scattered all over my face and body. When they finally burst and dried they left little slabs of scab. My former clean and smooth skin was no more. I looked in my mother's bureau mirror every morning, praying that my face would become again what it had been. And then one day, at last, my face became attractive to the tender touch of feminine fingers.
Fifty-odd years later and three weeks ago a pain in my left eye woke me just before dawn. It was steady, not pulsing. At first I thought I had aggravated it by sleeping with my face deep in my pillow. Half hour later, however, the pain continued. So I got out of bed, went to the bathroom and gently splashed my face.
My eyelids were stuck together. It took a while to open them and to look in the mirror. Staring back at me was what looked like a bruised and over-ripe star apple. It was purple. For a moment I thought the blood vessels in my eye had burst and that I was experiencing the beginning of blindness.
Now, I had been reading and hearing on radio and television that there was a pink eye epidemic in Jamaica. My helper and her daughter had caught it. I had not, however, experienced it before. The pain subsided during the first day, but it was replaced with an itching. My right eye became inflamed, also, and apart from being tender to touch, there was an itching.
Mercy-O! I rubbed and scratched as gently as I could.
My doctor prescribed an eye drop and a salve and these relieved the pain and itching. All those I knew who had caught it were cured after three and four days. But five, then six, then seven days passed and my eyes remained swollen. They felt heavy. I had to force open my eyes. I could not watch television for long. I also could not read and so depended on radio to keep up with the news.
In the meanwhile, I called family and friends and told them of my predicament. Everyone stopped visiting. My children brought fruit and drinks and left them on the doorstep. One went to the bank and brought money for me and pushed it through the grille. I was unclean. In fact, friends stopped visiting and I began to wonder if a quarantine notice was posted on my gate.
Two weeks passed. A grandson called regularly. My four-year-old granddaughter called a few times too, telling me in detail about all her friends who had pink eye. One day, too, she came to my home with her parents but wisely spoke to me from the gate.
SLIGHT BURNING
I am writing this column on day 18. My eyes are no longer swollen. I can now watch television for an hour or so before feeling a slight burning in my eyes. The purple has become a very pale pink. They still itch from time to time, but thank God, I can read a little.
Medical advice is that I should be better in a day or two and if you have not had it you cannot know what a joy this will be.
P.S. Last week, I committed libel when I accused Abel of murdering Cain when it was Cain who had raised cane and committed the crime. Thanks to the Tomlinsons of Bamboo, St. Ann for the correction.
