Bruised

The day after I went to Chichester (see my last post) I had an appointment for a shingles jab. 

I qualify for most of these 'pensioner specials' nowadays, and I'm more than happy to take what's offered. I can't see the sense in spurning something that might ward off a serious illness. 

Some people do, of course. They think of possible side-effects; they may not like needles; they may have lapped up some daft 'advice' or 'warning' on social media; or they may have been dissuaded by the weasel words of a trusted friend or relative, or their spouse. Me, I'm free to form my own view, and I do. And that boils down to looking hard at the risks of having a bad reaction, compared to the benefits of being vaccinated. Generally, it's no contest. I want to live long and prosper, and not be hit by a debilitating condition that harms my ongoing quality of life.

So I turned up at the local surgery at the appointed time. It was very pleasant to see Tracy again, one of my favourite nurses, although they are all nice. She seemed pleased to see me, and remarked that there was no way I looked so old as seventy. I think she meant it. I denied any such thing, of course. All right, I might get away with looking only sixty-nine!

The sealed kit for administering the shingles jab was quite elaborate. Besides the little vaccine bottle and a special syringe, there were other bits and pieces. Clearly it had to be done just so. 'This is going straight into the arm muscle,' Tracy said, 'and you'll get a temporary rash afterwards.' Well, I could cope with a temporary rash. And I snapped my fingers at a needle into my upper arm muscle. As expected it hurt a bit going in, but I did not flinch. And it hurt a bit more after the vaccine was injected, but I was brave. We chatted a little further, then I was off. 

By the time I got home, the muscle pain had subsided, and really there was now nothing to feel. No tenderness, no twinges. And for the first three days no sign whatever of that rash.

On the forth day, however - which was yesterday - I woke up with a peculiar mark on the inside of my arm, resembling for the most part a large red bruise, but sharply delineated near the elbow crease., where it was darkly purple. 

The mottled red speckles made it look like a rash, but the topmost layer of the skin felt completely normal: all these colours were below the skin. When the arm was hanging downward, it looked for all the world as if I'd been hemorraging, and the blood had collected at the lowest level it could get to. But really, there was no sensation whatever, nothing to alarm me. As the afternoon went on, the darker part got more defined and more purple. The bruise looked lurid. But I still felt fine. It only looked awful. 

I decided to take the cool of the evening down at Littlehampton, and scare people with this bruise fully on view while I nonchalantly strolled along the quayside to the beach. And quite a lot of them did stare at me. But that could have been for several reasons, including the fact that I had LXV in my hands and was clearly looking for shots. For some reason, once people notice my latest camera, they scrutinise me very carefully. Let 'em; I don't mind. 

I also had my chestnut walking stick in my hand, which I was carrying in case needed. Perhaps it looked like a weapon, rather than a walking aid, the way I was holding it. Who knows. 

It was a very nice evening, and as anticipated a reasonable sunset developed. So a few pictures to give you a flavour of the people about and the sunset on the river Arun.

This morning the bruise has already started to fade. I hope the people who jumped aside and ran away in terror yesterday have now recovered some composure, and can face the new day.