So I vastly underestimated just how unpleasant chickenpox is for adults. But I appear to be over the worst and am a lot more confident that we’ll be able to fly home together on Wednesday morning. I have a letter from my doctor and everything!
I feel like I’ve been in a car crash, with various aches and pains. And the really quite revolting sores are receding. The anti-viral meds seem to be doing their thing. (I’ve not taken any photos, as I don’t want to be reminded of how awful I’ve looked, never mind share the pictures on social media!)
I spent all of today, again, in bed. Listening to podcasts, napping and reading. I’m far less itchy, which was probably the worst part of the whole thing. The worst physical part, anyway. For me to be in Japan, a short train ride away from my favourite ever venues, but unable to move from this room is heart-breaking. It was pure torture looking out the window at the sunshine. It’s not like it’s Paris or Rome and I can pop back over willy-nilly. I know it’ll be at least a year before I’m back, so it’s frustrating to end the holiday like this.
Especially as I’m missing out on something I was really looking forward to: a visit to the onsen. That’ll have to wait too, while I look like a plague victim. And I was able to enjoy the hotel’s own spa facilities last week. It has an amazingly hot sauna and a fab hot spring all of its own. There’s even a relaxation room, where they give you your own pyjamas and a soft seat to chill out between soaks. Yes, I’ve taken advantage of that to the full.
It’s typical bad luck to get sick on your holidays and I know it happens to lots of people, but that really doesn’t take away from the annoyance.
Instead, I cling on to two things: firstly, I’m glad it’s nothing more serious and secondly, I enjoyed the week we had until I got really ill. Wishing things otherwise is a waste of effort.
And there’s always 2016.