Shots

Do you remember how it was when you were a child, and you visited the doctor for your yearly checkup? You'd go through all of the standard stuff: getting weighed and measured; opening your mouth, saying, "aaaahhhh," and practically gagging, while the doctor held down your tongue with a depressor; closing your mouth and tasting the flavor of the wood that the depressor was made of; tilting your head as the doctor stuck a scope in your ear; lifting your shirt as the doctor put the cold stethoscope on your chest and told you to breath deeply; and all the time, one thought was going through your head, one question, "will I have to get a shot?" With that in mind, you might understand the phone call that I received from the doctor's office the other day.

"Hey," said Amy, "I need your advice. Any suggestions on how to help Ben? He's freaking out." Ben had his annual checkup, and since he is five now, it was his medical workup for school, as well; that meant shots: four immunizations in total. Poor Ben had been dreading the possibility of shots ever since Joseph had recently gone to the doctor for his annual checkup and had a few himself, and his worst nightmares had come true - in spades.

Now, Amy and Ben were waiting in front of the lab; as if four immunizations weren't enough, he had to have bloodwork done as well. Like a trooper, he'd borne his four shots, but this was almost more than he could handle, and he was in a panic. I can only imagine him, curled up in a chair outside the lab, hyperventilating, sobbing; it's easy to imagine because I could hear him in the background as Amy spoke on the phone. I asked to speak to him, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Ben?

Ben: I don't want to get a shot. I...can't...do...it.

Me: I know you don't want to; I don't like getting shots either. Did you already get some shots?

Ben: Yes.

Me: Do they still hurt?

Ben: No.

Me: So you see, it will hurt for a little while, but then it will go away.

Ben: Yeah.

Me: Now, when you get this shot, they're going to take some blood out, but it's okay: it'll grow back.

Ben: Yeah.

Me: And it's important to get a shot, so that you can be healthy.

Ben: Yeah

Me: And after you pick me up from work, we can all go and get some ice cream.

Ben: Yeah.

(Feeling I had him, now)

Me: So, are you gonna go get your shot?

Ben: NO! I can't do it.

We repeated a variant of this conversation two or three times. My coworker, sitting at a desk behind me was laughing, hearing only my end of the conversation of course. He thought I had him a couple of times, but then he'd hear me start over with my argument, and knew that I hadn't quite succeeded in convincing Ben, yet.

I never really did succeed. Eventually, the phone got handed back to Amy, who thanked me for my attempts. While we had been talking, I guess she had signed in and explained the situation to a curious nurse; they had decided to have Ben provide a urine sample first, so that he could see the lab and that it isn't so bad in there. After we hung up, they went ahead and did that; apparently, Ben was surprised to see that even the bathroom was rather normal.

Then, they went and sat at one of the booths where the vampires suck your blood, and Amy demonstrated what would happen. The nice nurse offered to watch Ben while Amy went out to the car for something, and when Amy returned, Ben and the nurse were enjoying lollipops, and had built a tenuous friendship. At last the time came, and they tied the elastic band around Ben's arm and drew his blood. Every time he wanted to cry, the nurse reminded him that she was his buddy, and when it was all over, he got five lollipops, and an inflated latex glove with a face drawn on it. Thank goodness for the nurse.

Well, I can understand Ben's fears. To this day, I hate getting shots, even though I know there really isn't much to them, and I hate giving blood even more; it always feels (when I'm having my blood drawn) like the vein in my arm is collapsing and shriveling up as it's sucked dry, and there's a dull aching pain that I don't like. I'm forever grateful that the one time I gave blood at the Red Cross, I hadn't yet had the final shot in a three-shot Hepatitis immunization series, so that my blood work showed only that I had been exposed to Hepatitis, and I was asked not to donate blood anymore. I know, it's awful, but I just don't like having needles in me to begin with, let alone for so long as it takes to give blood. Anyway, I can understand.

Oh! And we had the ice cream. And it was good.