I signed up to get a flu shot at work the other week and then forgot about it. I’m not sure I really care about getting flu shots or even (gasp!) my kids getting one each year. I can’t tell you the last time I received one and it’s been a few years since we stood in line with all the other miserable parents outside the pediatricians’, waiting for our kids to get stabbed. We’ve been fortunate to have been disease free the past couple of years and so far this year as well.
But, since my office was offering and it was free and convenient, I put my name on the list. My doctor called me down to get one yesterday at work. Butterflies immediately flapped their wings in my stomach and I had nightmarish flashbacks of my kids being injected and even that time when I was a kid and my brother, Luke, while waiting to get a booster shot, told me that at the moment of injection, I would be ejected up out of my seat, flying through the roof (that’s why, he told me, it is called the booster shot). So, despite the last painful injection of lidocaine to my big toes, I bravely rolled up my sleeve and squeezed my eyes closed. The doctor said it wouldn’t be painful. Could I trust that man?
I hardly even felt it. I was like, “is that it??” He said, “that’s it – it’s not so bad.” I said, “why did my kids scream and holler and carry on so?” Then I started to think that maybe I have a high tolerance for pain – nothing can hurt this girl! (uh, yeah right, that theory ran out the door when I peeled the bandaid off last night).
So now I have my flu shot. We’ll see if I get the flu.