Shot!

I got shot thrice in three days! No I was not prowling around in the forests of the Sahyadris to get hunted down like that. Nor am I facing the flash lights and shutterbugs because I am not ultra famous. I needed to get my immunization against a horde of diseases that seldom get the same level of limelight as bird flu, dengue and chikangunya in our country of unidentified flying objects having a predilection to inflict disease on unsuspecting human victims.

I am terrified of needles and other weapons of incision. Fear breeds procrastination. So I tried in vain to put off the inevitable till it grew like a humongous insurmountable task and an unconquerable race against time. Of course I exaggerate! After making an enormous effort to shake off the mental inertia and irrational fear, I brought myself to the clinic of our family doctor. He took a look at the immunization history form and engaged in a long interrogation about the vaccines I was given as a kid. My mother did not happen to keep those receipts and normally hospitals did not award a certificate of merit and good conduct to kids who don’t throw tantrums during immunization. So we had no documented evidence of what diseases I was immunized against. Of course I do have bodily evidence of the small pox vaccine, but then there was no date written on it! When they give kids a shot they should also tattoo a date and time stamp just below the spot where the needle was inserted. So much for fear of needles!

In any case, for those diseases that required an adult dosage, I had to get a shot as early as possible. The doctor himself offered to administer one if I could procure the vaccine and the syringe within his visiting hours. It was as if the hunted was being asked by the hunter to buy the rifle and the bullets to have itself shot. So here I go about on a wild goose chase for the drug store he mentioned and finally found that they would need to go the warehouse for the vaccine. It nearly made me jump for joy, but at the same time I needed to take my shot at the right time. I decided to try my luck elsewhere. I was really amazed that there are so few, in fact, no questions asked when one shows a doctor’s prescription for something as significant as a vaccine and it is just handed over without much ado.

Back at the doctor’s clinic I saw the waiting room filled with folks who had more serious ailments and deserved more attention than I did. I was willing to patiently wait my turn and in fact would have been deeply grateful if the doctor had left without seeing me. But the receptionist thought otherwise and led me straightaway into the examination room. I sat upright on the bed rolling up my sleeve and trying to visualize the size of the needle and the proportional pain that was to follow. When the doctor saw my horrified face he asked me whether there was something wrong. I was just about to tell him about my fear of needles when a quick legerdemain of his deft hands left me speechless and actually quite disappointingly painless. Pain as they say is all in the mind so I could feel my muscle go numb for a while before the doctor patted my shoulders and said I would be alright.

The next day I was to get yet another shot and this time, as advised I went to the nearby hospital instead. Once again I was told that the vaccine was not available and I would have to purchase it over the counter. I was about to take to my heels with that excuse when the voice in my head reminded me that I still had the tetanus injection to take. So there I was lying on my side in the casualty room remembering all the horrid typhoid shots on my hind side that I received as a kid and cringing with fear. Why does it have to be the gluteal muscle? Can’t all these things be administered as an oral medication? Just as I was reflecting on such profound needs of mankind that the world of medicine failed to fulfill, I was caught unawares by the pointed end of the syringe jabbed onto my backside. One can’t even get mentally prepared for things happening behind one’s back!

As I got off the bed soothing my sore butt, I informed the nurse that I needed a certificate. She gave me a look of disbelief. While she simply said, “We never issue certificates”, she actually meant, “Are you going to frame it and hang it in your living room?” Perhaps she thought I would award her a certificate for rapid and painless injection. The doctor asked me if I would be back with the MMR vaccine as well. I had had enough puncturing for a day, so I decided to postpone the last one for the next day.

The next day when I arrived with the bullets and rifle, apparently the hunter was way too busy shooting down and tearing apart other rapacious creatures to bother with me. Fifteen minutes of gore and sickness outside the casualty room was enough for me to mentally shout, “Shoot me shoot me shoot me”. Finally when I decided to barge in and get it over with, my eyes caught sight of the gruesome denouement of a road accident and I retreated into the waiting room. When the nurse eventually decided to put me out of my misery, I was rather relieved to see the needle jabbed into my arm.

But not all was happy and gay in Shotsville. Three shots in three days gave me a horrible reaction and I was down with fever on Independence Day.