Yesterday, I had to restrain my daughter while a nurse gave her four immunization shots. Four? Come on! I don’t ever remember getting four freaking shots in my life. Two, yes, but never four.
When I received those two shots, I was the same age as my daughter – four years old. After forever befell me in that exam room, and with nerves already on edge, sitting on that sterile table and staring at the nimrod of a nurse who seemed quite clueless about the content and quantity of “cure” that she was about to inject into my body, the inoculation finally occurred. Of course, I first felt the prick and then the sting of the vaccine making its way into my muscle, but I was determined not to cry. After all, it would be over in a flash and then… lollipop. With said motivation surging through my mind, I managed somehow to grit my way through it without the waterworks. How proud I was, with stifled tears glassing my gaze and brimming the edge of my eyeballs like water splashing on this side of a scarcely stable dam. I intended to rise, claim my prize, and walk out of that place with a John Wayne like swagger. But lo, the nurse returned viewing some paperwork, and babbling on about another booster. I don’t remember if I lost it before or after the second shot, but I did lose it. Instead of a studly swagger, my exit consisted of a snotty, tearful traipse all the way out to the car. The ineptness of the intern or nurse who dealt with me was evident, and my mom was not happy with the way things went down. I can now sympathize with her anger. Not that the nurse who gave my daughter her four shots did anything wrong; in fact, she was quite competent. But there was something about having to restrain my daughter’s arms and legs while she stuck four needles into her shoulders that didn’t seem right. She told me to be sure to restrain her legs with mine because she didn’t want to get kicked. But as the needle caps flew, and the sticking started and the tears began to flow, I was instinctively inclined to give my girl some wiggle room; just enough for a swift kick. But inclined as I was, for my daughters sake, I restrained her as I was told.
When I received those two shots, I was the same age as my daughter – four years old. After forever befell me in that exam room, and with nerves already on edge, sitting on that sterile table and staring at the nimrod of a nurse who seemed quite clueless about the content and quantity of “cure” that she was about to inject into my body, the inoculation finally occurred. Of course, I first felt the prick and then the sting of the vaccine making its way into my muscle, but I was determined not to cry. After all, it would be over in a flash and then… lollipop. With said motivation surging through my mind, I managed somehow to grit my way through it without the waterworks. How proud I was, with stifled tears glassing my gaze and brimming the edge of my eyeballs like water splashing on this side of a scarcely stable dam. I intended to rise, claim my prize, and walk out of that place with a John Wayne like swagger. But lo, the nurse returned viewing some paperwork, and babbling on about another booster. I don’t remember if I lost it before or after the second shot, but I did lose it. Instead of a studly swagger, my exit consisted of a snotty, tearful traipse all the way out to the car. The ineptness of the intern or nurse who dealt with me was evident, and my mom was not happy with the way things went down. I can now sympathize with her anger. Not that the nurse who gave my daughter her four shots did anything wrong; in fact, she was quite competent. But there was something about having to restrain my daughter’s arms and legs while she stuck four needles into her shoulders that didn’t seem right. She told me to be sure to restrain her legs with mine because she didn’t want to get kicked. But as the needle caps flew, and the sticking started and the tears began to flow, I was instinctively inclined to give my girl some wiggle room; just enough for a swift kick. But inclined as I was, for my daughters sake, I restrained her as I was told.
You know, sometimes even though we know what's good for us, or those we love, it'd be nice to get some wiggle room... at least for the sake of our dignity and the "damn it all" mood that mulls around within us as the shots start their sting.
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