Around age four, I was blessed with chickenpox, which was kind enough to pass itself along to my brother during a family vacation that was promptly cut short by the virus. Nearly 40 years later, I still have some scars. The most obvious sits on the side of my nose, helping lend credence to my children’s belief that I’m an actual witch.

Ironically, the first bumps and symptoms of shingles came about a week after I was bitten by a tick in Canyonlands. The pain was concentrated around my head, including a swollen, tender area behind my ear so painful I couldn’t rest my head on a pillow.

Many have questioned my tick tale, but I had witnesses. The little bloodsucker fell from the top of my head, plump with its midnight snack. We suspect it dropped from the tree overhead as I set up my tent.

The timing led me to believe the pain and bumps were the result of the tick bite. In reality, they were the first signs of shingles.

I’m forever indebted to that tick. Had it not taken a nibble out of my head, I might not have gone to the doctor so quickly and received antiviral medication when I did. I believe the early treatment helped me avoid a more widespread outbreak. Instead, only part of my forehead and scalp became a battleground between nerve pain and sheer willpower.

For those who deal with recurring shingles, or who are already battling another illness only to have this miserable virus pile on, my heart goes out to you. Two weeks of stinging pain, including one jolt so fierce it reminded me of the last contraction before the obstetrician tells you to push during labor, was enough for me. I kept thinking of a former co-worker who suffered repeated flare-ups so excruciating she couldn’t even sit but yet she showed up to work every day, pretending to be a happy TV anchor.

Shingles are miserable.

Here’s the thing, my generation may be among the last to experience this virus at the same rates as our parents and grandparents. At least, that’s what some encouraging new research suggests.

Shingles is caused by the same virus that causes chickenpox. After you recover from chickenpox, the virus remains dormant in your body, sometimes for decades, before reactivating as shingles. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, about one in three Americans will develop shingles in their lifetime.

It sounds like the plot of a horror movie. A stressed, exhausted mom comes home from work to find not a single person has done their chores. Laundry towers so high she could be buried alive. The dishes are multiplying in the sink yet her family sits around the dinner table, knife and fork in hand as they chant “what’s for dinner” over and over.

Her blood pressure rises. Her eyes twitch. Her anger, irritation and lament trigger a flesh-eating virus that delivers relentless pain while she is still expected to function.

I get chills just thinking about it.

The good news is that there’s a chickenpox vaccine. I took all three of my kids to the pediatrician, where they received their vaccinations. That simple decision dramatically reduced their risk of getting chickenpox and, later, shingles. I helped spare them the misery I remember from childhood with the weeks of itching, fever, discomfort and lifelong scars.

Now, new research offers another reason to celebrate that little shot.

Researchers at Epic Research recently examined health records from more than 85 million patients, looking at shingles diagnoses between 2019 and 2026. They found a sharp drop in shingles diagnoses for the kids who received the chickenpox vaccination in the mid-1990s.

The researchers found that adults born between 1996 and 2000 had a substantially lower rate of shingles diagnoses during the study period than those born between 1991 and 1995. The findings suggest that as these vaccinated young’uns’ grow older, we may see fewer cases of shingles.

For generations who grew up with chickenpox, the virus is waiting in the wings. For younger generations, you can spare yourself the timebomb.

I am a month out from my first symptoms and still dealing with the occasional pinprick of pain or an itch that cannot be satisfied. My skin feels delicate and hypersensitive. The slightest bump can send a little reminder that shingles hasn’t quite dissipated into the ether of my joints.

Which brings me to my next grievance.

I’m told I can’t get the shingles vaccine until I’m 50.

Here I am, having already experienced the very thing the vaccine is designed to prevent yet I have to wait years before I can get it. It makes absolutely no sense to me, especially in a time when folks are turning up their ignorant noses to vaccines. I want one. They don’t. Let me have it.

I’ll do anything once, but I certainly don’t need to do shingles again.

This isn’t just about shingles. It’s about the things we can do to spare ourselves and our children from unnecessary suffering.

I know it’s become trendy in some circles to question childhood vaccines because getting a disease is supposedly more natural. You know what else is natural? Smallpox. Dysentery. Polio. Those are the reasons my family died along the Oregon Trail in elementary school.

If I can protect my children from a preventable illness, I will. If a vaccine can reduce their risk of pain, complications or lasting damage, I’m going to consider that a gift, not an interference with nature.

At 42, I even got the HPV vaccine. While it’s recommended for children and young adults, I figured it was worth getting protection for myself. Who knows what my 70s are going to look like in the  50+ neighborhood.

New research actually shows even getting the HPV vaccine later in life can dramatically decrease cancer risks and types of genital warts. All three of my children are vaccinated against HPV, too.

Vaccines are about the future. We taught our children to brush their teeth so they’ll have them when their hair goes grey. We opened a CD account so they’d have some money when they’ll need it most. For those still railing against vaccines, think of it as a Trump account for your child’s health.

Many more milestones are on the way for me – menopause, cataracts, hearing aids and releasing the chains of people pleasing. But if there’s a vaccine to skip over the miserable parts of life, sign me up.