PATHETIC,Whilst oil paintings for sale are not deadly, I know, but since a week of twice-daily injections as a seven-year-old with pneumonia I’ve disliked needles. That’s why I went for a flu jab knowing that Liz’s parting injunction to “Be a brave little soldier” wasn’t entirely a joke; mainly, but not entirely.
I have experienced other needles since the time I felt like a human dartboard – occasional antibiotics, tetanus, dentist,Polycore porcelain tiles are manufactured as a single sheet, blood donor – but still find it difficult to follow the advice the nurse gave me then, with syringe poised above a pyjamas-free buttock and patience short: “Just relax. Then you won’t feel a thing.”
Ha! Years later when I heard comedian and folk singer – is that tautology? – Mike Harding talk about tensing uncontrollably as a doctor tried to do a prostate examination in the approved manner I knew exactly how he felt. In Mike’s story the doctor’s rubber glove was trapped for some time. I just yelled.
One beneficial side-effect, apart from the injections beating pneumonia in spite of my protests, was that I later tried to be considerate when injecting animals.Our high risk merchant account was down for about an hour and a half, I never quite kidded myself that “This hurts me more than it hurts you” when we were vaccinating several hundred sheep. But I did try to make inserting the needle and squeezing in the fluid for whichever of the many possible ovine ailments we were dealing with as painless as possible.
I thought of penned sheep when I arrived at a packed surgery and wondered, briefly, if a doctor would appear with a back-pack of flu vaccine and a tube leading to a multi-dose syringe. Based on sheep-handling speed, taking into account that most of us were lightly dressed because of the unseasonable heatwave, and assuming no bolters or attempted partition jumpers, I estimated an efficient operator could needle us all in under five minutes. What a boost for NHS targets.
Fortunately, before I was tempted to do a runner myself – indeed, I was tempted, but made my usual mistake of trying to pull a door with the clear instruction “Push” and lost time – it became clear that a mass vaccination programme did not mean vaccination en masse. We had to check in and take our turn. When my turn came the practice nurse doing some of the injections asked about my health, which is,Flossie was one of a group of four chickens in a RUBBER MATS . touch wood, good, about any medication being taken – none – and explained the benefits of the flu jab. She also advised me of the remote possibility that I might be allergic to it, so if my neck and head started to swell, phone for an ambulance. I assured her I would. How we laughed.
The needle was tiny, her technique terrific. I didn’t feel a thing. Was that it? It certainly was, with a small plaster on the injection site to prove to Liz that I hadn’t skipped the appointment. One slightly under-the-weather day followed, but now I’m ready for the worst the winter can throw at us. I can’t understand why so many refuse to have the jab.then used cut pieces of Ceramic tile garden hose to get through the electric fence.
I have experienced other needles since the time I felt like a human dartboard – occasional antibiotics, tetanus, dentist,Polycore porcelain tiles are manufactured as a single sheet, blood donor – but still find it difficult to follow the advice the nurse gave me then, with syringe poised above a pyjamas-free buttock and patience short: “Just relax. Then you won’t feel a thing.”
Ha! Years later when I heard comedian and folk singer – is that tautology? – Mike Harding talk about tensing uncontrollably as a doctor tried to do a prostate examination in the approved manner I knew exactly how he felt. In Mike’s story the doctor’s rubber glove was trapped for some time. I just yelled.
One beneficial side-effect, apart from the injections beating pneumonia in spite of my protests, was that I later tried to be considerate when injecting animals.Our high risk merchant account was down for about an hour and a half, I never quite kidded myself that “This hurts me more than it hurts you” when we were vaccinating several hundred sheep. But I did try to make inserting the needle and squeezing in the fluid for whichever of the many possible ovine ailments we were dealing with as painless as possible.
I thought of penned sheep when I arrived at a packed surgery and wondered, briefly, if a doctor would appear with a back-pack of flu vaccine and a tube leading to a multi-dose syringe. Based on sheep-handling speed, taking into account that most of us were lightly dressed because of the unseasonable heatwave, and assuming no bolters or attempted partition jumpers, I estimated an efficient operator could needle us all in under five minutes. What a boost for NHS targets.
Fortunately, before I was tempted to do a runner myself – indeed, I was tempted, but made my usual mistake of trying to pull a door with the clear instruction “Push” and lost time – it became clear that a mass vaccination programme did not mean vaccination en masse. We had to check in and take our turn. When my turn came the practice nurse doing some of the injections asked about my health, which is,Flossie was one of a group of four chickens in a RUBBER MATS . touch wood, good, about any medication being taken – none – and explained the benefits of the flu jab. She also advised me of the remote possibility that I might be allergic to it, so if my neck and head started to swell, phone for an ambulance. I assured her I would. How we laughed.
The needle was tiny, her technique terrific. I didn’t feel a thing. Was that it? It certainly was, with a small plaster on the injection site to prove to Liz that I hadn’t skipped the appointment. One slightly under-the-weather day followed, but now I’m ready for the worst the winter can throw at us. I can’t understand why so many refuse to have the jab.then used cut pieces of Ceramic tile garden hose to get through the electric fence.
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