Shots

I have a story from a few weeks ago, I haven’t blogged about it before – perhaps because I’ve tried to erase the whole ordeal from my memory, but having just retold the story today without needing a strong drink afterwards, made me realize that I can now write about it.

Here it goes:

Two weeks ago I took Beckett into our pediatrician for his 15 month well check appointment.  I had phoned the clinic a day prior to ask about their availability of the flu shot and the H1N1 shot.  They had them, so I decided to bring the other two along with me and get everything taken care of at once. 

I spoke to the kids about getting two shots and they expressed a little concern over the poke of the shot.  But nothing that seemed like  alarming anxiety of it.  So I thought nothing more of it.

The next day at the appointment, all three kids and I go marching into the office and into a little exam room.  I love all the staff at our ped’s office and have been coming there since Campbelle was 6 months old.  Such nice sweet people and either they know how to stroke a mother’s ego or they really do think my kids are amazing…. because as we were walking into this particular appointment, two different nurses commented on how lovely and well behaved all the kids are.  “Jill, your kids are so great.  What really nice well behaved kids you always have when you come in here.”  And that is a direct quote.  (And of course it goes straight to this proud mama’s head.  Big mistake).

Anyway, Beckett gets checked over and all is well with that big buddha belly and the time came for shots.  Shots all around.  Beckett was getting 4 and the kids were each getting 2. 

As the nurse stepped out to prepare, Campbelle and Christian got in a heated debate as to who was going to get their shots first.  Both wanted to prove they were the bravest.  Christian somehow won the battle and when the nurse came back in he was jumping up and down with excitement that he got to go first.

He pulled his arm from his sleeve and was so proud to be brave… and then the nurse spun around on her stool with a tray FULL of shots and I could literally see the blood drain from that kids face.  Immediately he tried to get his arm back in his sleeve, begging and pleading that he decided to let Campbelle go first.  “I changed my mind.  I changed my mind.” He cried as I tried to hold him still (all the while holding Beckett on my knee.)  He put up a quite a fuss and cried for a bit – but eventually the two shots were in him and he was done.  Wheww…. I sighed.

Campbelle’s turn. 

But where is she.  Oh yes, there.  Crouched in the corner and she appears to be trying to molt herself into the wall.  As soon as we look at her she immediately starts screaming.  No, I mean SCREAMING at the nurse that she will not get a shot.  NO I WILL NOT.  YOU CAN”T MAKE ME.  GET AWAY FROM ME.  NO – LEAVE ME ALONE. (and then just a bunch more, scream at the top of your lungs cries escape her mouth.)  I literally didn’t know what to do.  She had clearly transformed into something else entirely.  The nurse went to get her in the corner of the room and Campbelle starts kicking and swatting at her.  Yes – I said KICKING AND SWATTING at her.  I am completely dumbfounded.  She is scaring the living daylights out of Beckett (whom is still in my arms) and is quite frankly scaring me.   This goes one for what felt like an E.T.E.R.N.I.T.Y!

I don’t know how to respond to this behaviour.  Should I get angry and demand her to shape up and get her shots.  Do I try to coddle her and comfort her telling her it will be ok.  She is SWINGING at anything that gets near here.   I am completely dumbfounded and shocked by what I was seeing and hearing from my own flesh and blood.

Finally, another nurse comes in and between the 3 of us (I’m still holding Beckett remember) – we hold her down and as quick as possible give her the two shots.  All the while blood curdling screams are spewing from this little devil that has obviously possessed my daughter’s body.  My 6 1/2 year old daughter.

There is no way that anyone in that entire office didn’t hear all that had transpired in that room.  And I’m sure people wondered what type of stitches, or compound fracture, or severed limb of a patient was in that room. 

We gather our coats and things.  There was utter silence among everyone.  We leave and the nurse whispers to me ‘we both could probably use a glass a wine later on tonight after that’ and I quietly apologize for the kicks she received to her shins.  And thought to myself how I wouldn’t mind a shot of a different kind right about then.

We get into the van and drive home. 

All night I try to process what went on in that room.

Not a word was spoken about the incident until the following morning when Campbelle says at flippantly at breakfast, “I kinda overreacted to those shots, don’t you think.”

I blink long and take a drink of coffee.

“Yes.  I think you might have.”  I muster to speak in my calmest tone of voice.

 

(Oh, and you wonder how Beckett did with his 4 shots.  He grimaced and whimpered a second. And then quickly found the band aids very interesting.)