When I was three months pregnant with my first child,
my husband developed a rash the doctor thought was German measles—the sort that
can cause congenital disabilities in the fetus if the mother contracts it.
A three-month pregnancy is the worst time to get German measles. I knew I had the hard (9-day) measles as a child (my mother darkened the room for my eyes hurt), but I didn’t remember any 3-day or a second dose of measles. My husband and I had been married for seven years—we had waited to start a family until we both had our degrees, and he had a job. I felt I had waited even longer for I had always wanted to be a mother. I was overjoyed.
The doctor gave me gamma globulin shots in both arms and both legs. Gamma globulin is extracted from the blood of many individuals and used to enhance the immune system. At the time, the doctor told me that someone in the group of contributors would have had German measles, and therefore, antibodies from that person or persons would be present in the dosage he gave me, and hopefully that would give me immunity.
(Thank you to the people who donated blood.)
Long story short, I never contracted measles, and my daughter was born healthy. I never knew for sure if the rash my husband had was measles, but the doctor was doing everything he could to make sure I didn’t catch whatever. I am thankful, and I bow down in gratitude.
My best friend was so concerned after my experience that she took her little girl, about age seven, to the house of a little boy who had measles and bite into an orange he had bitten into. For most children, German measles is easy and over within three days.
After that came inoculations.
I was on my way to this blog when I passed by a notice regarding the measles outbreak in Texas, and it brought up this experience. You know how the Internet can catch you.
Before getting sidetracked, I took my phone/camera
outside to photograph this magnificent Pink Dogwood tree outside my window.
(See my window behind it.)
Looking closely at the blossoms, I thought they were aging like me. Her flowers might not be as pristine as some of the young trees about town, but she is gorgeous, flourishing, and putting forth her magnificent celebration of life. Where does all that pinkness come from? Those branches were gray sticks all winter. Now look at them–like a bridal arch decorated with living blossoms.
This tree has particular significance for me as two years ago, on May 1, 2023, I decided to write 50,000 words on a memoir before the blossoms dropped from the tree. (It beat me when I had only 48,000 words) but I enjoyed the rehashing of my life motivated by Natalie Goldberg's book Old Friend from Far Away. Goldberg said that a memoir doesn’t have to be an older adult’s story; it can be any time. It can be for those moments that take your breath away.
It can also be for sadness and heartache, for that’s the joy of writing it—put it all on paper and emphatically place a period at the end of a sentence. That can allow the cycling brain to rest. You know, the one that keeps telling you those sad stories over and over.
Everybody ought to write one.
Thus, I began typing while staring into the pink dogwood tree.