January 16, 2015 scottcjones 7Comments

Science Fact You Probably Don’t Know: “ringworm” is a fairly common skin affliction with a melodramatic name. I was diagnosed with ringworm in late November. After devoting a fair amount of thought to it, I still don’t understand how the word “worm”—which is a terrible word, by the way—got jumbled up in its name. Because there is no actual worm involved in the affliction, unlike, say, “tapeworm,” which DOES, in fact, involve an actual worm. Yes, a tapeworm is a worm that lives in your butt. Which, frankly, sounds like the sort of thing that a worm would enjoy doing—living in a butt.

My affliction was only this: a gathering of red, marginally itchy rashes on my arms, on the inside of my left thigh, and—get ready to wince—on my penis. Hey, don’t act like you’ve never had anything on your penis before. And, if you haven’t, well some day you will, I promise. Live long enough and every man eventually gets one or two odd things on his penis. That’s life, people.

I blame the shared exercise mats at the Burrard Street YMCA for my ringworm. Though my wonderful friend Ali, who dislikes cats, places the blame—of course—on my cats.

I saw two different walk-in clinic doctors—on different days; I’m not that nutty—who both prescribed medicinal unguents. I dutifully applied these medicinal unguents exactly as they had instructed, then attempted to stay as far away from all people over the holidays as I possibly could. Why? Because ringworm is highly contagious. This was no small task, staying away from people. All people try to be physically closer to you over the holidays. They pull you close and offer eggnog and suggest standing side by side by the fireplace. And everyone hugs me, or, more accurately, tries to hug me at Christmas, especially children, who always think I’m a talking bear that has learned how to wear clothes. I jokingly referred to my condition as “holiday ringworm.” Here’s what I said when a child attempted to hug me at Christmas this year:

Me: “Oh no, no [backing away]. What are you trying to do, buddy? Catch HOLIDAY RINGWORM from Uncle Scott and make your parents hate me forever?”

Un-hugged Child: [crying]

Parents of Un-hugged Child: (whispering to each other) “Let’s not invite Scott to our holiday gathering next year.”

When I was staying at my brother’s place in upstate New York over Christmas, which is where I always go for Christmas, my mother, who works as a nurse down in Florida, instructed me to dry my hands not on the community hand towels that everyone else enjoyed using but instead with paper towels which, after I’d tainted them with my pox, I could throw into the trash. This startled me at first—I enjoy terrycloth towels so much—but once I considered it, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do. Somewhat less reasonable was the way my mother would scrub out the shower each day after I’d washed, as if an ebola patient had been bleach-hosed in there only moments earlier. I asked her about her disinfecting efforts.

Mom: “DO YOU WANT THE REST OF US TO GET RINGWORM?”

She was right—I did not want everyone else to get ringworm, especially my two nieces who are 9 and 2.5 years old. For some reason, it seemed more tragic if the kids had caught ringworm rather than the adults.

I flew back to Vancouver at the very end of December, and realized that my ringworm was not getting any better. If anything, it had gotten marginally worse. I made an appointment to see my family doctor—that’s what they call “primary care physicians” here in Canada—for his opinion, which I hold in somewhat higher regard than the opinions of the aforementioned bottom-feeder walk in-clinic doctors.

My family doctor told me that I did not, in fact, have ringworm. He said that his kids had had ringworm when they were younger; whatever I had “didn’t look like ringworm” to him (not the most scientific assessment, I realize, but I was OK with it). Instead, he said, I had been vexed by some sort of vague, anonymous skin affliction. That’s the trouble with skin afflictions; they always seem to be vague and anonymous. He prescribed yet another medicinal unguent—I’ve got a drawerful of bloody unguents now—then sent me home to apply it.

To the people and children in my life who love me: It is OK to hug me again, and to drink eggnog with me next to a fireplace again, and to let your children play with me again. At least, I think it’s OK. This new unguent, after only a few days of use, seems to be working so far. Fingers-crossed.

7 thoughts on “MY 2014 HOLIDAY STORY

  1. Congratulations on not having ring worm!

    I’m going to consider this post as an invitation to share stories about afflictions.

    I’m 29 years old and realized last year I’m starting to lose my hair. I feel like it wasnt that long ago that I started getting over the teenage problems of pimples and squeaky voice and now this awesome curveball. I had really thought there would be a good chunk of life where I could look in the mirror and give that handsome devil a Fonzi “ayyy”. On well, cest la vie. It took about 6 months but I’m mostly over it; no hair loss unguents for me please.

    Here’s to a great 2015 to everyone, especially you Jones; I’m sure it will be 100 times better than last year for you by default.

  2. So the sacrificial burning of the bathroom rugs was all for nought? Hahahahahahahaha!! Just kidding. Unguent is a great word; right up there with salve. Love you!!

  3. Don’t you love it when doctors look at you for 5 minutes, scratch their chins (yes, plural) and deduce this or that with such little information. Surgeons are great, modern medicine is an incredible invention. These things often keep us alive well beyond the years nature would have had its way with us. But doctors, in general, often just waste everyone’s time. Or if you’re a borderline hypochondriac like I am, needlessly send you off into a spiral of anxiety that ends up making you more ill than you were before.

    A few Xmas’s ago I had an appointment with an eye doctor the day before Xmas eve. A minor checkup. This guy shines some lights in my eyes for a minute, leans back in his chair, and whimsically ponders if I have a very rare condition called “Pars Planitis” …. Planters Peanuts… what?! What does that mean? “I can’t tell you much but its very rare, there is a good chance you don’t have it” A good chance I don’t have it? Well of course there should be a good chance anybody wouldn’t have it but why do you think I have it!?! “Anyways, don’t let it bother you, I’ll send you to a specialist, enjoy your holidays!” A specialist? You mean like Google? Because you can’t even be bothered to access your fading memory of outdated medical knowledge and are just going on pure intuition. Thanks, prick!

    In the end it was nothing and the real ‘specialist’ scoffed at how he wasted her and my time for what ended up to be “normal condensation”. But if you look back at those holiday pictures of me taken a day later with my family, my saucer-shaped eyes and crooked smile through gritted teeth expresses less “Happy Holidays!” as it does “Im Going Blind!”

    Anyways, here’s to 2015 and a clean slate!

  4. Scott you gotta get back on with co hosting reviews on the run I really can’t stand the show without your sarcastic humour Vic and Marisa are ok but they act like two little school girls boucing around jumping up and down tee heeing while they review please hurry back your the best get well soon

  5. Great entry, as usual!! Keep ’em coming!
    I do hope you will consider writing that book someday. The world needs more writers like you.

    Happy New Year!

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