SPN FIC: The Valiant Brother
11 September 2016 06:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonfly11Title: The Valiant Brother
Author: dragonfly
Genre: humor, family, h/c
Words: 2300
Summary: Takes place first season. Sam comes down with a childhood malady. Dean cares for him the best way he knows how. BigBrotherKnowsBest/FeverSammy
A/N: Unbeta’d. I’m not a nurse or a doctor—nor do I pretend to be one on TV.
~*~SPN~*~
/ …Climbing the treacherous mountainside, his feet were blistered, his muscles weary, but Elick would not falter. /
“Dude, knock it off, will you?” Dean reprimanded, grabbing Sam’s hand and pulling it away from irritated flesh.
Miserable, Sam sighed and dropped his head back against the window. “I’m too old for this,” he whined in a tone that suggested otherwise.
Dean studied his brother’s face. His concern belayed the smartass remark on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, well, it could be worse,” he reminded gently, eyes turning back to watch the road.
With exaggerated effort, Sam looked over from his slouched position. “How?”
“It could be shingles.”
Sam closed his eyes with a groan. “I can’t believe I’ve never had the chicken pox.”
“Actually,” Dean intercepted Sam’s fingers again before they could rake across his spotted side, “you did. You were three.”
Letting the digits be pulled away, “I did?” he asked quietly, confusion furrowing his brow.
“Yeah, it wasn’t so bad, though. Not like this,” Dean added frowning and making a right turn towards their new destination. Practical joking ghosts could wait. Little brothers could not.
Squirming in his seat, a low guttural whine boiled up from Sam’s throat and Dean did a double take. “Dude, you handled this better when you were three.”
“You said I didn’t have it that bad.”
“You didn’t. In fact,” the older hunter smirked, “you being sick actually worked in our favor for once.”
Sam didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Please explain to me how a sick three year old is a good thing.”
“Cookies, Sammy. Cookies.”
“You used me to get cookies,” Sam guessed languidly.
“Nope. You used yourself.”
Sam opened one eye slightly and regarded him dubiously.
“It was July,” Dean continued, ignoring him. “Man was it hot,” he recalled. “Hot and sticky. People were bakin’ bacon on the sidewalk, and anything against your skin just irritated the hell outta you—”
“Good times,” Sam murmured jokingly, but it was in a breathless way that made Dean turn to watch him.
“Sam?”
Curled up against the window—looking smaller than Dean could remember him looking in a long time, his eyes fluttered but didn’t open. “Hmm?”
Dean watched his breathing for a few more moments with worried eyes before pulling Sam’s fingers away from where they hooked into his collar ready to scratch. “Nothin,” he said quietly, turning his gaze back to the road. “Get some rest.”
~*~SPN~*~
“Well this can’t be good.” Sam’s fever had spiked, and with it, Dean’s worry. “Sam.” He nudged him gently. “Sammy, wake up. I got us a room.”
The brown, disheveled mop lolled towards him where he was crouched down between the opened door and the passenger seat. “z’over yet?” Sam mumbled, eyes still closed.
“ ‘fraid not, kiddo,” Dean replied, startling when a cat leapt onto the hood of his baby.
“Whatisit?” Sam’s eyes blinked open, noticing the brief tension.
“Nothing,” Dean answered, shooing it away, “just a cat.” He started tugging the younger man’s legs out of the car. He had no intention on waiting until his fevered sasquatch got all of his freakishly long limbs working on their own.
“Cat?” Wrinkling his nose, “I’m allergic to cats,” Sam said as Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him to his feet. Once up, Sam leaned heavily into him for a moment.
“Dizzy?”
“Yeah.”
“No, you’re not.” Dean then said, getting back to their previous topic. He kept a supportive hand on Sam’s shoulder and closed the impala’s door behind them. The heat radiating off the younger man was alarming.
“Yeah huuuh.”
Sam had his eyes closed again—whether to block out the light, or from exhaustion, Dean couldn’t say. His tone earned him an incredulous look, however. Big fevers and little brothers did not mix. “Since when?”
“Since I broke out into a million, gazillion hives from Mr. Meow.”
Dean raised an eyebrow at “Mr. Meow” then his face grew troubled at the thought of his brother having new allergies he knew nothing about. “Is there anything else you would like to share with the class?” he asked, leading him to their room just in front of the car.
Wordlessly shaking his head, Sam leaned against the wall and wiggled his back against it a few times.
“Stop that,” Dean admonished, slipping the hotel key into the door. Not that he didn’t believe Sam, but they would be revisiting this allergy conversation later when he was firing on a few more cylinders. Finally getting the stubborn door open, he ushered him inside.
/…Elick knew he would be forced to fight the great beast, but it was of no matter. He would do whatever it took to get his brother back. Elick followed the beast to its cave. /
~*~SPN~*~
Two days later Sam’s fever still had not broken and though it was no longer dangerously high in itself, Dean was starting to worry. Sam couldn’t open his eyes unless the curtains were closed and the only light in the room was coming from the TV or bathroom. He ached everywhere and was getting too tired to hide it—not that Dean hadn’t known for a while. Big brothers watched for these things.
“Maybe I should find you a hospital,” he said more to himself than the subject of his worry as he wiped the ever present cool cloth down the side of his little brother’s neck.
Eyes closed, voice tired, “It’s just chicken pox, man. Kids manage through it all the time,” Sam reassured hoarsely.
Dean grimaced on his behalf. His throat sounded like he had been gurglingly glass. Slipping a hand under Sam’s head, he lifted and placed a cup of cool water against his lips. Sam took cautious, painful sips. The fever had drained him so much, he didn’t even bother trying to hold the cup himself. “Yeah, kids, Sammy. You’re an adult. It makes it more dangerous,” he said worriedly, placing the cup back on the nightstand. Especially with all the stress you’ve been under lately. “You could get pneumonia and if it decides to turn into Shingles you can suffer permanent nerve damage.”
Sam peered up at him with amusement in his eyes as Dean eased his head back down onto the pillow.
“Whatever man, downplay it all you want,” Dean knew he was being quite the mother hen. “but if this fever of yours doesn’t break by morning, we’re finding a hospital. And quit scratching!” he added, pulling the offending digits from Sam’s side.
“It’s not like it helps much anyway,” Sam complained, turning over his Winnie the Pooh mitten-clad hands. He had glared at his brother until his own body had betrayed him and succumbed to sleep for that one.
Dean’s lips twitched as he fought off a grin. “Now, now, we can’t have you scarring.”
“I thought you said scars were sexy, that chicks dig ‘em,” Sam murmured, his eyes closing again on their own accord.
“No scars caused by anything named after poultry is sexy, little brother,” Dean informed, but he was already asleep. After watching him for a moment, Dean stood with a deep, worried sigh and pulled the light bed sheet up over Sam’s unfairly tall frame again. He kept kicking it off, only to start shivering immediately after doing so.
Wearily sitting down on the bed next to Sam’s hip, Dean brushed his sweat-soaked bangs aside.
/…but it was a magical cave and Elick did not know how to get inside…/
~*~SPN~*~
Two hours later Sam’s fever spiked.
“Damnit, Sam,” Dean cursed, placing small bags of ice under Sam’s armpits and between his legs. He couldn’t believe that out of everything they had faced in their whacked-up lives—a childhood malady was what it took to lay his brother out.
Sam watched him sluggishly. “Did you ever have the chicken pox?” he asked out of nowhere.
“Yeah, I was around your age when you first got ‘em,” Dean answered distractedly.
Sam’s voice was barely a whisper. “What’d mom do?”
Suddenly uncomfortable, Dean stood and went to the bathroom to refill the ice bucket with cool water. “I don’t really remember, Sam. I was barely four years old.”
“I know what she did.”
Dean returned and sitting next to him, placed a fresh wet cloth across his brow. “Oh, really?” he humored him. “I’m not entirely sure you were even conceived yet, buddy.”
Tired, fevered eyes bright with adoration fixed on him. “She made you brownies.”
Dean stilled.
“She brought you tomato rice soup and covered you in calamine lotion,” Sam continued confidently.
“Alright there, psychic boy.” But Dean’s smile was awkward and painful as he tried to change the subject. “Time for more beauty sleep. God knows you need it,” he teased, standing.
But Sam pushed on. “She made you oatmeal baths, put your favorite shows on—even if she couldn’t stand them, and did everything she knew to comfort you and get your fever down.”
The last bit sounded almost distant and mournful to Dean’s ears. Or maybe that was just the way he was hearing it. Either way, he could bear no more. With his back to Sam, he closed his eyes with a sigh…and started to sing softly. The words left him before he even realized what he was doing, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop. He just wanted to drown Sam out.
So, he pushed aside a window blind and watched sporadic cars pass on the dark highway outside while pretending that he was absolutely not singing his adult brother to sleep.
“Dean—” Sam objected softly from behind him, perhaps recognizing the old trick. If he did, he was probably just as surprised as Dean that he was using it.
But Dean kept singing, “Hey Jude” until he heard Sam’s breaths even out behind him.
Sitting back down on the bed, Dean again adjusted the sheet over Sam. It never would have worked if Sam wasn’t already completely drained from the fever, but when he was little, there were nights when it was the only thing Dean could do to get him to sleep.
Moving to the chair beside the bed to continue his watch, Dean wiped a tired hand down his own face. Up for the past two nights trying to fight the fever off and worrying over his brother had drained him, but he didn’t want to sleep until Sam’s fever broke.
Leaning back in his seat, his eyes began to close despite his best efforts.
He felt a familiar, long lost touch feather across his brow, brushing sweat-soaked blonde strands aside. He smiled. Jasmine and calamine filled his senses and he knew he was safe—knew he would get better because at three years old the world had secret weapons to make everything right again.
They were called moms and he had the very best of them.
She was holding his most prized possession; his favorite book. “Dean, do you know the magic word that will let Elick inside to save his brother?” she paused from reading to ask.
Dean smiled. Of course he did.
“Dean, open your eyes, honey,” she called softly.
“Dean…”
“Open your eyes…”
He did—and was surprised to find sunlight streaming in from breaks in the curtains…and Sam watching him with concern. “Sam?”
A weak smile.
“How you feelin’?” He immediately leaned in, placing the back of his hand against a now much cooler cheek. His fever had finally broken.
“Better,” Sam croaked, then winced. After helping him drink more water, Dean wiped some of the sweat from his neck and shoulders so he wouldn’t get too chilled. Sam was watching him as if trying to remember something. “Did you sing—”
“So who exactly is this “Mr. Meow” and where exactly did he give you this rash?” Dean countered, hoping to distract him long enough so he’d forget what he was remembering. He tossed the cloth onto the nightstand and leaned back in his seat as casually as he could. He had already decided to plead the 5th if Sam remembered the “help” he got falling asleep.
Sam’s brow furrowed and blinked slowly. “Mr. Meow?”
Dean was relieved to see his eyes already starting to close again. He may be on the road to recovery, but the journey there had left him exhausted. “Go back to sleep, little brother,” he encouraged softly.
Sam murmured something not even Dean could decipher, then his breaths slowed and evened out almost immediately.
Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Dean watched him sleep a finally restful, healing sleep. “Dragon slayed,” he said to himself.
Standing with a groan and an aborted stretch, he walked over to the bed next to Sam’s…and fell face down onto it. Light snoring joined his brother’s soft breaths within moments.
Little illumination was offered in the messy room, but it would be hard for wandering eyes to miss the calamine lotion on the nightstand, or the empty cans of tomato rice soup in the trash, the oatmeal powder in the bathroom, or even the brownies on the TV stand—though not homemade, it had been, and always would be, the intention behind them.
/ After slaying the dragon, Elick ran from the cave with his little brother in his arms. He looked down at his charge, who was watching him with big, expressive eyes full of wonder. “You came. You fought for me.”/
Rolling over in his sleep, Dean breathed from memory, “Always.”
-
-
end.
Author: dragonfly
Genre: humor, family, h/c
Words: 2300
Summary: Takes place first season. Sam comes down with a childhood malady. Dean cares for him the best way he knows how. BigBrotherKnowsBest/FeverSammy
A/N: Unbeta’d. I’m not a nurse or a doctor—nor do I pretend to be one on TV.
~*~SPN~*~
/ …Climbing the treacherous mountainside, his feet were blistered, his muscles weary, but Elick would not falter. /
“Dude, knock it off, will you?” Dean reprimanded, grabbing Sam’s hand and pulling it away from irritated flesh.
Miserable, Sam sighed and dropped his head back against the window. “I’m too old for this,” he whined in a tone that suggested otherwise.
Dean studied his brother’s face. His concern belayed the smartass remark on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, well, it could be worse,” he reminded gently, eyes turning back to watch the road.
With exaggerated effort, Sam looked over from his slouched position. “How?”
“It could be shingles.”
Sam closed his eyes with a groan. “I can’t believe I’ve never had the chicken pox.”
“Actually,” Dean intercepted Sam’s fingers again before they could rake across his spotted side, “you did. You were three.”
Letting the digits be pulled away, “I did?” he asked quietly, confusion furrowing his brow.
“Yeah, it wasn’t so bad, though. Not like this,” Dean added frowning and making a right turn towards their new destination. Practical joking ghosts could wait. Little brothers could not.
Squirming in his seat, a low guttural whine boiled up from Sam’s throat and Dean did a double take. “Dude, you handled this better when you were three.”
“You said I didn’t have it that bad.”
“You didn’t. In fact,” the older hunter smirked, “you being sick actually worked in our favor for once.”
Sam didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Please explain to me how a sick three year old is a good thing.”
“Cookies, Sammy. Cookies.”
“You used me to get cookies,” Sam guessed languidly.
“Nope. You used yourself.”
Sam opened one eye slightly and regarded him dubiously.
“It was July,” Dean continued, ignoring him. “Man was it hot,” he recalled. “Hot and sticky. People were bakin’ bacon on the sidewalk, and anything against your skin just irritated the hell outta you—”
“Good times,” Sam murmured jokingly, but it was in a breathless way that made Dean turn to watch him.
“Sam?”
Curled up against the window—looking smaller than Dean could remember him looking in a long time, his eyes fluttered but didn’t open. “Hmm?”
Dean watched his breathing for a few more moments with worried eyes before pulling Sam’s fingers away from where they hooked into his collar ready to scratch. “Nothin,” he said quietly, turning his gaze back to the road. “Get some rest.”
~*~SPN~*~
“Well this can’t be good.” Sam’s fever had spiked, and with it, Dean’s worry. “Sam.” He nudged him gently. “Sammy, wake up. I got us a room.”
The brown, disheveled mop lolled towards him where he was crouched down between the opened door and the passenger seat. “z’over yet?” Sam mumbled, eyes still closed.
“ ‘fraid not, kiddo,” Dean replied, startling when a cat leapt onto the hood of his baby.
“Whatisit?” Sam’s eyes blinked open, noticing the brief tension.
“Nothing,” Dean answered, shooing it away, “just a cat.” He started tugging the younger man’s legs out of the car. He had no intention on waiting until his fevered sasquatch got all of his freakishly long limbs working on their own.
“Cat?” Wrinkling his nose, “I’m allergic to cats,” Sam said as Dean wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him to his feet. Once up, Sam leaned heavily into him for a moment.
“Dizzy?”
“Yeah.”
“No, you’re not.” Dean then said, getting back to their previous topic. He kept a supportive hand on Sam’s shoulder and closed the impala’s door behind them. The heat radiating off the younger man was alarming.
“Yeah huuuh.”
Sam had his eyes closed again—whether to block out the light, or from exhaustion, Dean couldn’t say. His tone earned him an incredulous look, however. Big fevers and little brothers did not mix. “Since when?”
“Since I broke out into a million, gazillion hives from Mr. Meow.”
Dean raised an eyebrow at “Mr. Meow” then his face grew troubled at the thought of his brother having new allergies he knew nothing about. “Is there anything else you would like to share with the class?” he asked, leading him to their room just in front of the car.
Wordlessly shaking his head, Sam leaned against the wall and wiggled his back against it a few times.
“Stop that,” Dean admonished, slipping the hotel key into the door. Not that he didn’t believe Sam, but they would be revisiting this allergy conversation later when he was firing on a few more cylinders. Finally getting the stubborn door open, he ushered him inside.
/…Elick knew he would be forced to fight the great beast, but it was of no matter. He would do whatever it took to get his brother back. Elick followed the beast to its cave. /
~*~SPN~*~
Two days later Sam’s fever still had not broken and though it was no longer dangerously high in itself, Dean was starting to worry. Sam couldn’t open his eyes unless the curtains were closed and the only light in the room was coming from the TV or bathroom. He ached everywhere and was getting too tired to hide it—not that Dean hadn’t known for a while. Big brothers watched for these things.
“Maybe I should find you a hospital,” he said more to himself than the subject of his worry as he wiped the ever present cool cloth down the side of his little brother’s neck.
Eyes closed, voice tired, “It’s just chicken pox, man. Kids manage through it all the time,” Sam reassured hoarsely.
Dean grimaced on his behalf. His throat sounded like he had been gurglingly glass. Slipping a hand under Sam’s head, he lifted and placed a cup of cool water against his lips. Sam took cautious, painful sips. The fever had drained him so much, he didn’t even bother trying to hold the cup himself. “Yeah, kids, Sammy. You’re an adult. It makes it more dangerous,” he said worriedly, placing the cup back on the nightstand. Especially with all the stress you’ve been under lately. “You could get pneumonia and if it decides to turn into Shingles you can suffer permanent nerve damage.”
Sam peered up at him with amusement in his eyes as Dean eased his head back down onto the pillow.
“Whatever man, downplay it all you want,” Dean knew he was being quite the mother hen. “but if this fever of yours doesn’t break by morning, we’re finding a hospital. And quit scratching!” he added, pulling the offending digits from Sam’s side.
“It’s not like it helps much anyway,” Sam complained, turning over his Winnie the Pooh mitten-clad hands. He had glared at his brother until his own body had betrayed him and succumbed to sleep for that one.
Dean’s lips twitched as he fought off a grin. “Now, now, we can’t have you scarring.”
“I thought you said scars were sexy, that chicks dig ‘em,” Sam murmured, his eyes closing again on their own accord.
“No scars caused by anything named after poultry is sexy, little brother,” Dean informed, but he was already asleep. After watching him for a moment, Dean stood with a deep, worried sigh and pulled the light bed sheet up over Sam’s unfairly tall frame again. He kept kicking it off, only to start shivering immediately after doing so.
Wearily sitting down on the bed next to Sam’s hip, Dean brushed his sweat-soaked bangs aside.
/…but it was a magical cave and Elick did not know how to get inside…/
~*~SPN~*~
Two hours later Sam’s fever spiked.
“Damnit, Sam,” Dean cursed, placing small bags of ice under Sam’s armpits and between his legs. He couldn’t believe that out of everything they had faced in their whacked-up lives—a childhood malady was what it took to lay his brother out.
Sam watched him sluggishly. “Did you ever have the chicken pox?” he asked out of nowhere.
“Yeah, I was around your age when you first got ‘em,” Dean answered distractedly.
Sam’s voice was barely a whisper. “What’d mom do?”
Suddenly uncomfortable, Dean stood and went to the bathroom to refill the ice bucket with cool water. “I don’t really remember, Sam. I was barely four years old.”
“I know what she did.”
Dean returned and sitting next to him, placed a fresh wet cloth across his brow. “Oh, really?” he humored him. “I’m not entirely sure you were even conceived yet, buddy.”
Tired, fevered eyes bright with adoration fixed on him. “She made you brownies.”
Dean stilled.
“She brought you tomato rice soup and covered you in calamine lotion,” Sam continued confidently.
“Alright there, psychic boy.” But Dean’s smile was awkward and painful as he tried to change the subject. “Time for more beauty sleep. God knows you need it,” he teased, standing.
But Sam pushed on. “She made you oatmeal baths, put your favorite shows on—even if she couldn’t stand them, and did everything she knew to comfort you and get your fever down.”
The last bit sounded almost distant and mournful to Dean’s ears. Or maybe that was just the way he was hearing it. Either way, he could bear no more. With his back to Sam, he closed his eyes with a sigh…and started to sing softly. The words left him before he even realized what he was doing, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop. He just wanted to drown Sam out.
So, he pushed aside a window blind and watched sporadic cars pass on the dark highway outside while pretending that he was absolutely not singing his adult brother to sleep.
“Dean—” Sam objected softly from behind him, perhaps recognizing the old trick. If he did, he was probably just as surprised as Dean that he was using it.
But Dean kept singing, “Hey Jude” until he heard Sam’s breaths even out behind him.
Sitting back down on the bed, Dean again adjusted the sheet over Sam. It never would have worked if Sam wasn’t already completely drained from the fever, but when he was little, there were nights when it was the only thing Dean could do to get him to sleep.
Moving to the chair beside the bed to continue his watch, Dean wiped a tired hand down his own face. Up for the past two nights trying to fight the fever off and worrying over his brother had drained him, but he didn’t want to sleep until Sam’s fever broke.
Leaning back in his seat, his eyes began to close despite his best efforts.
He felt a familiar, long lost touch feather across his brow, brushing sweat-soaked blonde strands aside. He smiled. Jasmine and calamine filled his senses and he knew he was safe—knew he would get better because at three years old the world had secret weapons to make everything right again.
They were called moms and he had the very best of them.
She was holding his most prized possession; his favorite book. “Dean, do you know the magic word that will let Elick inside to save his brother?” she paused from reading to ask.
Dean smiled. Of course he did.
“Dean, open your eyes, honey,” she called softly.
“Dean…”
“Open your eyes…”
He did—and was surprised to find sunlight streaming in from breaks in the curtains…and Sam watching him with concern. “Sam?”
A weak smile.
“How you feelin’?” He immediately leaned in, placing the back of his hand against a now much cooler cheek. His fever had finally broken.
“Better,” Sam croaked, then winced. After helping him drink more water, Dean wiped some of the sweat from his neck and shoulders so he wouldn’t get too chilled. Sam was watching him as if trying to remember something. “Did you sing—”
“So who exactly is this “Mr. Meow” and where exactly did he give you this rash?” Dean countered, hoping to distract him long enough so he’d forget what he was remembering. He tossed the cloth onto the nightstand and leaned back in his seat as casually as he could. He had already decided to plead the 5th if Sam remembered the “help” he got falling asleep.
Sam’s brow furrowed and blinked slowly. “Mr. Meow?”
Dean was relieved to see his eyes already starting to close again. He may be on the road to recovery, but the journey there had left him exhausted. “Go back to sleep, little brother,” he encouraged softly.
Sam murmured something not even Dean could decipher, then his breaths slowed and evened out almost immediately.
Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Dean watched him sleep a finally restful, healing sleep. “Dragon slayed,” he said to himself.
Standing with a groan and an aborted stretch, he walked over to the bed next to Sam’s…and fell face down onto it. Light snoring joined his brother’s soft breaths within moments.
Little illumination was offered in the messy room, but it would be hard for wandering eyes to miss the calamine lotion on the nightstand, or the empty cans of tomato rice soup in the trash, the oatmeal powder in the bathroom, or even the brownies on the TV stand—though not homemade, it had been, and always would be, the intention behind them.
/ After slaying the dragon, Elick ran from the cave with his little brother in his arms. He looked down at his charge, who was watching him with big, expressive eyes full of wonder. “You came. You fought for me.”/
Rolling over in his sleep, Dean breathed from memory, “Always.”
-
-
end.
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Date: 12 Sep 2016 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 10:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 10:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 12:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 12 Sep 2016 05:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 13 Sep 2016 01:46 am (UTC)Is the story Mary is reading a real story?
Chicken pox doesn't turn into shingles. It's the same virus. Once a person recovers from chicken pox, the virus lays dormant in the spinal nerve root (dorsal root ganglion) Shingles is the virus reactivating, as it were, in a particular nerve root and typically only affects the skin served by that particular nerve root (dermatome). Typically only one dermatome is affected in healthy persons with a functioning immune system though I am sure is possible to have shingles in one dermatome and then have it in another dermatome at a different time (which would suuuuccckkkk). I've seen people who I thought could have it in two adjacent dermatomes. A person who has never had chicken pox cannot catch shingles though it is possible for them to catch chicken pox. A person who has had chicken pox is not going to catch shingles because they already have it lying dormant in their own nerve roots. I just know you wanted a pathophysiology lesson today..lol.
#NPmode #leaveworkatworkglenda
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Date: 13 Sep 2016 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 13 Sep 2016 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 13 Sep 2016 11:52 pm (UTC)Also, I made up the story of Elick.
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Date: 13 Sep 2016 11:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 1 Oct 2016 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 1 Oct 2016 04:23 am (UTC)