Flu Shots

Each year around the first of October my bride begins preparations for us to get our flu shots. She starts by pointing to the CVS signs and Wal-Mart signs about flu shots. Then the comparison of which ones will take the insurance for the shot and the planning for the day and time. The school system, where she has worked for 20 years, usually makes this available for employees and those of us who are leeches on our spouses insurance.

When a time and place are located to her satisfaction she states in a rather firm voice, "We ARE going to get our shots at such and such place at such and such time!" The implication being that I have no choice. Now, let me say, I am vulnerable to the various flus that swirl through our society. I am especially vulnerable to the stomach or intestinal flus. And it is my bride that has to deal with all the fall-out (ooh, bad choice of words). It is at this point that I blame my parents.

We were raised on farm in west Texas where we had our own water source. It was a shallow, murky, moss-filled creek that ran across the back of our farm. We would pump the water from the creek into two large "settling" tanks, where my chore every day after school was to pour 2 cups of Chlorox into the tanks. As my bride and friends will tell you when they see me cook, measurements of ingredients are more guidelines than actual measurements. It was a hassle to scale the wooden ladder leaned against the tanks with a jug of Chlorox and measuring cup. So I would only haul the Chlorox up the ladder and eye-ball the measurement. Too little and no one knew(except for the mild dysentery) a little too much and a day later our drinking water had a distinct Chlorox whang to it. After the scientific treatment that I applied the water would then run through a 40' underground gravel trench to an underground storage tank where it was then pumped into the house and used for drinking water, dish and clothes washing and baths for all of us. The assumption I have about my frail digestive system is that the little hardy bugs that made it through this process have homesteaded my intestines for the past 50 years. So I fully agree with the need for the shots. I just don't like them.

Yesterday was "shot" day. We met at the school where they were inoculating all of us, stood in line and waited our turn. Getting shots is one of the only events in my life that suddenly turns me back into an 8-year-old. I know the "stick" will be minimal, I know the little bugs will keep me safe until next May, I know the after affects will be minimal, and yet I stand there screwing up my courage to be an adult. And it is harder than you think. I watched a little boy in front of me handle it like a pro, and I am thinking, "Crap, I hope I don't squeal like a little girl, this kid will make fun of me!" Punk.

So the nurse asks me, "Which arm would you prefer?" ....yours. "Did you get a shot last year?"...yes, and I cried like a baby. "There, that wasn't so bad."...really? how does your arm feel right now. My actual conversation was.."left".."yes".."thanks" For a guy who considers words his friends, I become mono-syllabic when confronted with pain. My bride left there and went to yoga. I went home, had a Blue Moon while stretched out on the couch. My recuperation method is far superior to my bride's.

For another year we have thwarted the avians and the asians and all others that would attack us with their little flu bugs. The arm is a little sore this morning and I kind of feel yucky, but that could all be in my head. My bride has accomplished one of her Fall goals, we are free to interact with impunity with the world at large.

Godspeed to all you who have been or will be "shot" this fall. We are better people for it. Unless they are using sugar water instead of the real thing. Which, by the way, is the only medicine in the USA that does not come with a warning. Hmmm.

Don