That's a Childhood Disease...Right?

I Can Play Connect the Dots With These Spots!

Who would have thought a grown man could come down with a nasty case of chicken pox? He certainly hadn't and neither had his friends or family. Through the years he had been exposed at various times when his multitude of nephews and nieces had come down with the illness but he had always been fortunate enough to avoid catching them. His mam chalked it up to his being immune just like his oldest brother and youngest sister, Eamonn and Camelia, as well as a great Uncle Clive and great Aunt Aggy on his mams side of the family. Apparently though, in the end, immunity had had nothing to do with it, rather it all had to do with his age and how rundown he had become following the end of the latest series of Saturday Night Takeaway. He had fought a bout with a cold then an ear infection all in the last month so the doctor had an idea as to what may have contributed to his becoming ill, just not whom he had been exposed to. He hadn't been home to see family in a few months and none of the friends that he associated with had children who had been ill. It was all a puzzle until one of the shows producers remembered that one of the workers in wardrobe had had a case of shingles but had been cleared to work...the same person who had spent at least two hours, if not more, with Declan taking measurements for a new suit as well as pinning the cuffs to a pair of slacks and making some small adjustments to two shirts just two weeks earlier. They had been in close proximity to each other close enough and long enough for Dec to come down with a good old fashioned case of chicken pox.

It had all started Thursday morning when he noticed that his throat was slightly scratchy when he and Ant met with the writers to go over the script changes they wanted to make. He had simply blamed it on the fact that he and Ant had spent a good part of the previous day filming an outdoor segment in the rain which had actually consisted of some powerful hoses spraying water several meters in the air so that it appeared to be an actual rain shower as it fell to the ground. He had spent that evening in a hot bath trying to warm himself followed by a cup, or two, of hot tea, honey and lemon along with some paracetamol before burying himself underneath a mound of blankets in bed.

Friday, his throat was still sore and he had general achiness and a slight headache which he chalked up to being tired and ready for the next evenings show to be over. Several had noticed his slight lack of energy but had seen both he and Ant pull themselves together in a the show must go on sort of way when the cameras were set to roll.

On Saturday, he had been able to give the show 100% with a smile on his face but by the time it was finally over that evening, he was certain he wouldn't have a problem with simply crawling into a hole and staying there for a day, or two... maybe three. He had pretty much drained what little energy he had had remaining and apologetically, he bowed out of the after party after an hour of dealing with not only his sore throat but also a pounding headache and slight dizziness. He hadn't been able to find Ant to tell him but he figured he'd lie down in their dressing room to wait for him to come up and change into his street clothes before going home. They had come to work together and he couldn't see having Joe, their driver, make the long 30 minute drive to take him home then return to the studio to give Ant a ride home too.

At the same time, from across the crowded room, Ant  was more engrossed in what Dec was doing than the fact that a young reporter was trying to strike up a conversation. With a slight frown, Ant watched his friend put his hand on his left hip as he pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing round about him. With a slight shake of his head, he watched Dec walk along the back wall then slip through the backdoors of the large room the party was being held in. He knew Dec hadn't been feeling very well but the older man hadn't been completely forthcoming with exactly how bad he really felt. Ant had just assumed that his friend was simply battling another cold.

"Excuse me," Ant said, interrupting the young man who had been trying to ask him questions only to have been failing miserably. In a last ditch effort, the reporter began to ask another, less probing question.

"Mr. McPartlin...would you mind..." he began only to be slightly startled when Ant shook the young man's hand while grabbing hold of Stephen Mulhern's arm as he passed by.

"Stephen!" he exclaimed with a big smile. "I'd like to introduce you to...umm..."

"Finley...Finley Burnett," the young reporter said, eagerly shaking Stephen's hand. "I've always been a big fan of yours, Mr. Mulhern!  Me mam and da bought me one of your magic sets for my 10th birthday, they did!"

Stephen smiled warmly at the nervous young man then gave Ant a slightly quizzical look...one that made it clear that the entertainer would have some explaining to do later. Ant mouthed his thanks before heading to the same doors Dec had gone through minutes earlier.

With feet so heavy, Dec could have sworn he was trying to slog through treacle as he made his way toward the dressing room, bypassing the stairs he usually took, opting instead to take the lift up the three flights. As he waited, he pulled slightly at his collar when it felt uncomfortably tight before opening the top button and loosening his tie. The lift finally arrived and he entered it then leaned against the back wall, reveling in the silence since his ears were beginning to slightly ache and roar. With a shiver, the feverish feeling he had been fighting for most of the afternoon and evening seemed to be growing worse and he ran a slightly shaking hand through his hair then scratched an itch on his stomach. Once he reached the third floor the lift doors opened and he made his way through the labyrinth of hallways, all the while keeping one hand on the wall as he walked since he didn't truly trust his balance. When he reached the dressing room door he paused to rub a hand over his face.

"I think I need to call Anth," he whispered to himself as he opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. He took a half step toward the sofa where he wanted to sit down to make his phone call when his vision grayed then turned suddenly to black. His knees buckled and he slammed back against the door then limply slid to the floor without making a sound...his body lay in a crumpled heap, pressed against the dressing room door.

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