May 15, 2002

Shots painful childhood moment

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       Holding your nine-week-old baby as she gets 0.5 cc of polio vaccine injected into her leg is a far cry from one of the joys of parenthood.
      At least we both received "I Did Great" stickers for putting on brave faces.
      Getting our child's first round of immunization inoculations last Thursday was undoubtedly the first in a long line of childhood moments too painful to watch. Now I know why parents say things like "this is going to hurt me a lot more than you" to their children. Although saying pertussis is easier than having it poked into your vastus lateralis.
      While taking your baby in to get her first set of shots is difficult enough, imagine asking a co-worker to brandish the needle. As a nurse for the Grand Traverse County Health Department, my wife is called upon to give children immunization shots. However, she politely refused to personally poke her own baby. Instead, that thankless task was performed by a fellow nurse (whom we thanked profusely afterward).
      As with most traumatic experiences, the immunization shots involved red-faced screaming and crying. For her part, Ella also got upset. Actually, after shedding relatively few tears, our baby still found a reason to smile before falling asleep in daddy's arms. Which is amazing since I've known 185 pound babies that pass out at the mere mention of a hypodermic needle.
      While few things can prepare you for a parental moment like this, childhood memories can come into play. Especially those recollections involving shots in the arm.
      Although my day-to-day life is often a blur, I still vividly recall the exact moment when I first experienced dread. Pastoral as it sounds, I was blueberry picking at the time. It was a sunny summer day out in the woods when my mother informed me that I was going to have to get allergy shots. Truth be told, I never liked picking blueberries, now I hated it.
      To make matters worse, I couldn't have allergies to Brussels sprouts or something cool like "mathmatic-itis." Instead, I was allergic to wholesome wheat and milk.
      Less than 24 hours later, I was being chased around the doctor's office by a syringe and several nurses. Unfortunately, I was not what you would call a fleet of foot four-year-old. So for the next five years, I trudged in to Dr. McCadie's office for my weekly shot in the arm. Today, I can drink milk by the gallon and am immune to both wheat germ and the sight of needles.
      Or at least I thought until last Thursday. Watching my own child get needled brought back painful memories - but at least she won't resent blueberries.
      Of course, I realize this is just the beginning of the harrowing, and sometimes painful experience known as growing up. If our child is anything like me, she will be an accident waiting to happen. Ever since I took my first few precarious steps, life has been full of brushes with hairline fractures. I've lost count of the number of stitches that have held my forehead, nose, lip, fingers, etc. together at one time or another.
      Now I know childhood comes with its share of bumps and bruises, I just want to keep Ella's x-rays to a minimum. Unfortunately, life doesn't come with training wheels - unless you count Barbie bicycles.
      Thankfully, it takes a lot for me to cry. Not to sound machismo, but physical ailments, chopping onions, even being subjected to watching "Steel Magnolias" on television; none of these things bother my tear ducts. However, we will see whose lip is quivering more: mine or my four-year-old being pursued by a syringe and several nurses.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com