A Thinking System

I had not thought of Chicken Pox in years. Then it appeared. Suddenly, quietly, and thoroughly draining energy, focus, and the small confidence that I could simply push through.

Chicken Pox, caused by the varicella zoster virus, is described as a childhood illness. Adult infection is said to be uncommon. What struck me though, was not the label attached to it, but how quickly the body begins to negotiate its own limits once it stops cooperating with plans.

As the fever settles in, curiosity followed. Was it five days or seven? Would isolation last fourteen? Work was informed, sick leave approved, and time took on different texture. There was no urgency left to resist, only space to notice.

Beyond the childhood shorthand we use to describe chicken pox, I found myself wondering why it often evades easy recognition, why diagnosis can lag behind experience. Reading about it slowly, I realised that medicine rarely speaks in absolutes. It works in likelihood, tendencies, and patterns. Sometimes it lingers, indistinct, why you live inside it.

Looking at the mark on my skin, imprinted where strength once felt assured. I became aware of how provisional even familiarity with the body can be. Muscles that once felt carved and dependable now seemed distant, temporarily borrowed from another version of myself.

I can’t yet say how long this will take or exactly what recovery will look like. But I will return to say what shifts, and what remains, as the days unfold.