Childhood Called: It Wants Its Disease Back

I knew I would fall ill at some point on my trip around the world. Somewhere on the way, there was going to be an ice cube, a mosquito bite or some questionable meat that was going to get me into trouble.

I took all the precautions. I went to the travel doctor. I got the shots (Hep A, Typhoid, Yellow Fever vaccines). I got the preventative medications to protect myself from altitude sickness, malaria and Delhi belly (or as they call it in Mexico, Moctezuma’s Revenge). I watched how and where my food was made. I avoided salad for months at a time. I thought of everything.

Except Chicken Pox.

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