I had three exams left for the week. One for Science, one for Math and one for Japanese. The exam first up was for Science. It was the biology component. I remember it distinctly. I had really enjoyed it. I even remember my teacher's name and the classroom we held it in. My retention for these minute details astound me to this day. I have no idea why I remember such details so many years later. Especially given that I struggle with remembering people's names and telephone numbers. Funny how the brain works.
I was feeling a bit off colour that morning. I'd had a bit of a temperature the night before but it wasn't anything to get overly concerned about. My father had not long dropped my off at school and I was waiting for my friends to arrive. I'd usually get to school a lot earlier than most people but that didn't faze me. I'd often wait until the library opened and go inside and read before the first bell rang to go to class.
My friends and I were inside the library chatting and being typical nerdy teenagers when one of them noticed something on my arm. It was a small blistery lump. You see, a few weeks earlier, my kid brother had succumbed to Chicken Pox. He had contracted it through school and had required a good few weeks time off and had only recently returned. At that age I was unaware of the incubation period of the malady, nor was I aware of the symptoms in the lead up to the outbreak of the spots. It also didn't help that most children, by that age, had already been subjected to it so I was pretty much a late bloomer in that regard.
Upon my friends noticing that one lump, the light bulb moment ensued and I started to panic. Oh no! What if it was my turn? Did I have the dreaded Pox?!? There was a flurry of activity where my friends were put into high alert mode and given the task of searching my body (well, the openly visible parts) for more lumps. The tally came to about 10 before I was resigned to my fate and marched myself up to sick bay. The attending nurse confirmed my suspicions and my father was called to come and get me from school (my mother doesn't drive) and take me home.
Within the next 24 hours I was covered in spots. I missed all three exams and was absolutely gutted. As for the school holidays, I spent the entire time in isolation away from friends with nothing but books, drawing and bad daytime television (I only had two channels to switch between back then). When I wasn't doing any of those things I was soaking in a Pinetarsol bath trying not to scratch.
When I got back to school the next term, I tried to negotiate with the teachers for a resit of the exams due to extenuating circumstances but they wouldn't have it. I ended up with a basic pass mark. It made me mad as I had solid Bs in all three subjects at the time. It was a double whammy as not only was I cheated of my school holidays but I was cheated out of attempting my exams as well!
On the upside though, I did consider myself lucky that all I got out of the Chicken Pox side of things were a few very small scars on my forehead and random ones on my arms and legs. It could have been much, much worse. In fact it was, for my sister, who was the last on the list to get the dreaded Pox. Three weeks after mine cleared up it was her turn and boy was it a doozy!
