Monday, July 15, 2013

"Momma! You Lied To Me!!!"

    Ugggg. Tomorrow is the big day: shots. Shots as in multiple, not as in one. I was expecting only to have to get my daughter the TdaP booster, but this morning I spent some time on the phone with staff from her doctor's office, and they kindly reminded me that my daughter needed some shot for meningitis and did I also want to get her starting on the HPV shot while I had her in there. Attack of the multiple shots!
    Well, of course I said yes. I want my daughter as protected against that biatch we call Mother Nature as possible. Every time we think we have her beat: she cooks up some nice new disease. But I am not looking forward to the triple attack of needles (sharp pointy things piercing my baby!!!) and I am really glad that I have the next three days off so that I can monitor her for any adverse reaction. And of course the fevers and not feeling well that always comes with vaccines.
   Which leads me to today's story: the last time my daughter got shots. She was five, and because of the February birthday, had not yet started school, but that was coming in the fall. She just needed the last of her shots. So I made an appointment with her doctor and we were on our way.
   My daughter by that time had learned to be very wary of the doctor's office. After a childhood of vaccines, how could a kid not be nervous? And although you can't tell now, after two years of major growth spurts that left her damn near as tall as me, and after a term in elementary school where she was constantly playing rough with the boys at recess, she was once a very dainty little girl. And she has these big brown eyes that melt you, so when she sat in the doctor's office waiting to be injected, which her bottom lip trembling, all the nurses and staff were trying to put her at ease.
   Of course, I knew what was coming. I had been doing shots with her since birth; due to the move from Florida to Washington, these nurses did not understand the horror that was about to descend. When my daughter started getting those shots, she didn't cry: she screamed. Blood-curdling, glass-shattering, ear-drum busting I am being murdered screams. Screams that had every single staff member and nurse and doctor busting into our little patent cubicle to see what the hell had went wrong and who was dying. Little girls: never underestimate the power of their vocal cords.
   Of course, all this time I am holding her and frantically saying,  "Shhh, shhhhh. These will make it so you don't get sick." But she was screaming so much that I didn't really think that she was paying me any attention.
   Several weeks later, unrelated to the vaccines, the whole household face a plague of stomach viruses. Every time someone would shake the virus off, they would only be well for a day or two before getting sick again. Liquid from both ends, and this is not fun when you are just as sick as your kid and the niece that you are babysitting. Threw up? Doesn't matter, the babies are throwing up too and you better get your ass up and take care of them. Shit yourself? Tough; so did the kiddos (two year old and a five year old) so get your ass in gear and clean them up and if you are lucky you'll have a few minutes break to take care of yourself. And we used up all of my gatorade supply, which is something I keep stocked for illness. My first defense against dehydration.
   So when we were all better, and we were shopping in the store, restocking my depleted gatorade supply, what comes out of my daughter's mouth? You probably guessed, she exclaims in the highly outraged and disillusioned tones that only a five year old girl can manage, "Momma! You lied to me! You said I wouldn't get sick if I got shots, and I got sick!"

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