that time I got shot

2 Apr

This morning I had a shot. Not of the liquid variety. Or no, wait, I guess it was liquid. I meant it wasn’t alcohol. Geeze. It was in a syringe, and now it is in my right arm. Or well, my body.

First of all, I would just like to say that I do not mind needles. I have no “needle phobia” (proven when getting my nose pierced and having a huge needle the length of my face left in my nose while the guy tried to find something to cut it with… talk about shady. I guess I’m not sure if it was a needle, or just whatever needle-looking material one uses for that sort of thing. Either way, I thought it was awesome), nor do I pass out at the sight of my own blood… like my friend Andrew (sorry Andrew, I wasn’t going to go there, but I did). Needles and I have generally gotten along. I would credit this to the advice of a kind nurse, whose name I do not remember, giving me a shot when I was but a small youngster. This tidbit of knowledge has gotten me through many a syringe experience, and now I shall share it with you, so take heed.

Said nurse explained that if you take a deep breath and then blow out as they stick you with the needle, it’s not so bad. Maybe this is common sense, but it had never occurred to me until that point in my childhood life that crying hysterically would not, in fact, make the shot any less painful. And ever since then I’ve been on good terms with needles. Pain-free since ’93! (Okay they still hurt a little).

Anyways, my appointment was at 10am, which does not seem early to the untrained eye, but oh it was. Mostly because of my “pseudo –spring break” which I have very much been taking advantage of, re-introducing my body to the glorious wonderment that is sleeping in. So this morning, after my body was rudely awakened from slumber, I changed clothes, went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and ran out the door.

Surprisingly, I arrived at my appointment with time to spare (and I did not get lost!), so I filled out some paperwork, practiced signing my full legal name 12 hundred times, and eventually was called back to get vaccinated. My nurse, whose name was something like Bettyanne, was real nice and let me sit in this fancy throne-looking chair while she asked me all kinds of personal questions. Then she told me I needed to do a pregnancy test before they could give me the shot. Now, peeing in a cup is generally not too much to ask of someone, but when you pee before you leave the house, it gets a little difficult. So 20 minutes and a whole bottle of water later, I find out I’m not pregnant.

So Bettyanne starts getting the shot all ready and asks me what arm I want it in. I say right arm. She assumes I am left handed. I tell her that I am indeed right handed. I heard somewhere that you should get your shot in the arm you use most because it will help it circulate or something. It’s probably just a myth, or a straight up lie, but I continue to believe it. Bettyanne has no idea what I am rambling on about. She curses out loud all of a sudden. Something about the needle being the wrong size. She leaves and comes back with a different, bigger needle. Next thing I know, I’ve been shot in the arm.

It wasn’t bad. She handed me what she described as a “jazzy” band-aid. What is a jazzy band-aid? It has bugs bunny all over it, and it rocks. I guess I don’t look like the boring-flesh-colored-band-aid-type.

And that’s more than you ever wanted to know about that.  


2 Responses to “that time I got shot”

  1. JSmag April 2, 2009 at 10:32 pm #

    Awesome blog KD….hahaha

  2. foxcraft April 4, 2009 at 4:02 pm #

    Hi, Kades, it’s Lynz. =P

    Hilarious! I’m glad I subscribed to your blog. It looks to be some interesting reading!

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