Vaccines

The mere mention of needles has me running for the hills. So when it was time for my first-born’s six-week immunisations I cowardly arranged for my husband to take an hour off work as my replacement.

In hindsight I should’ve just taken a cement pill and hardened up for, not long after they’d left, I received a phone call from the doctor’s surgery basically implying I get my butt up there as my baby needed me.

They’d taken the car so, with trepidation, I raced up there breaking a PB (personal best) to be met by the sound of my baby’s screams ricocheting out the surgery and down the strand. 

It’s fair to say, at that moment, I felt like the worst mother in the world. The accusing looks I received as everyone in the waiting room turned unanimously to look at the negligent parental unit who’d left their baby to howl down the house for the last 15 minutes only verified this.

Now, many needles later, I have hardened up so, after calling the 0800 number to clarify a few concerns, I booked the twins in to have their free meningococcal vaccines.

It’s been hard to miss the publicity around this. Besides the media and a letter in the mail there was also a mobile clinic in the mall during the school holidays which, once Master Five cottoned onto, literally gave a wide berth.

“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder to the approaching nurse as I chased my son. “He’s not having a bar of it today.”

“That’s alright,” she smiled. “The schools are running free programmes.” (In other words “They’ll get you at school little man hehehe.”)

The twins, however, were the opposite. “Who wants to go first?” the nurse asked.

“Me!” they both exclaimed, curious to know what was in the little tray she carried.

I’d explained to them it would just be a small prick which would help stop them getting sick and then we could go get a lollypop.

Jai hopped up on my knee first. “Ow!” he looked accusingly at the nurse. “You hurt me!”

That was it.

Jayla was much the same but with a bit of a whimper (or was that from me?) and it was all forgotten as they focused on their prize – the lollypops.

After much ado over their plasters and lollypops - the nurse had long been forgiven - we were on our way.

That’s two down, just one more – the hypochondriac – to go. But then maybe that’s not going to be such a drama after-all.

Upon picking up big bro and their lollypops being flamboyantly thrust in his face, (painstakingly saved specifically for this reason, I might add) he suddenly changed his mind.

“Mum, when do I get to have my injection?” he whined all the way home.