We call them 'immunizations'

I had to travel for work earlier in the week which meant that Glenn was on drop-off and pick-up duties for a few days in a row.  When I came back on Wednesday, Will asked if I could pick him up early from school.  He likes to get picked up directly from school without having to ride the after-school bus.  I try to do that once every few weeks just for a change of pace.  On Wednesday morning, I promised that I'd pick him up early one day this week.  When I arrived at work, I called the doctor's  office and made an appointment for that afternoon to get both kids a flu shot.  Be careful what you wish for, Will! 

So Will was pretty excited to see me standing outside of the school door.  As we walk to the car, we chat about his day.  Once we get in the car, I tell him that we have to go do something special, that there was a bad bug going around our town that was making people pretty sick and there was only one thing we could do to make sure that we didn't get sick.  We have to go to the doctor to get a shot.  He balks, obviously, and is also pretty worried about this insect that is attacking our town.  Yes, in hindsight, I should've described influenza as something other than a big bug.  So Will and I talk about it on the way to pick up Reina and I tell him that it isn't a very big shot, and he's my big brave boy and we'll go get a snack afterwards and all sorts of motivating, positive things.  He's definitely concerned but not pitching a fit which I considered to be a minor miracle after his behavior at the kindergarten immunizations six months earlier. 

We get to Reina's preschool and I go inside to get her and leave Will in the car.  I don't tell her the reason for her early pick-up by when she and I get back to the car, Will calmly informs her, "Reina, you are getting a shot."  She immediately bursts into tears and wails for most of the 5 minute ride to the doctor's office. Yes, this is the girl who didn't make a peep while getting her blood drawn a few weeks ago, but last time she didn't have an older brother narrating, I guess. 

We arrive at the doctor's office and everyone is calmed down and rather plucky about the upcoming ordeal.  Until we get inside.  I inform the receptionist that we are here for the S-H-O-T-S and she gives me a smile and says, "We call them immunizations."  Potato, potahto lady.  I don't know why I felt the need to spell it out at that point, the gig was up.

We have to wait for a few minutes in the waiting room and at one point I look over at Reina and tears are just streaming down her cheeks.  She's not wailing anymore but she's such a sad, forlorn sight. Before too long, the Pauley kids are called back and the real fun begins.

We go into the exam room with the nurse and Will announces that he wants to go first.  He marches over to the exam table and plops himself down. He tells the nurse that he wants the shot in his leg and he points to his calf.  The nurse says that his leg is where the shot needs to go, but she has to do it on his thigh because that's where it works the best.  I tell him to stand up and pull down his pants and this is where things start going downhill fast.  He starts hollering and crying and changing his mind about the whole "I'll go first/show Reina how it's down" kind of thing.  Out of empathy for her sobbing big brother, Reina starts wailing - she's sitting in the exam chair behind me.  I make a quick decision that it's better to just get Will 'immunized' or all shot-ted up so I talk to him calmly and tell him not to look and oops there you go, you are all done and hey it's a Spongebob band-aid!  Ironically, he's done crying before the needle even comes out of his leg but little sister is still screaming behind me.  As soon as I can, I scoop her up and show her how Bobo is just fine and it's all done and he has a band-aid!  Look at the band-aid! 

Now it's Reina's turn and Will is quiet so I ask him to hold his sister's hand and I hold the other one and Reina isn't even crying anymore.  Both kids are officially immunized.  I apologize to the nurse for making her last appointment of the day so dramatic.  The kids pick out a thousand stickers which are promptly plastered to their shirts (note to self, remove before throwing said shirts in laundry because that gunk does not come out) and we march triumphantly out of the office.  Two of the three of us also get a giant lollipop for a job well-done.  Will asks me on the way out if because he had to get five shots for kindergarten, does he have to get six shots for First Grade?  Thank goodness, no.

On the way home, I call Glenn, relay the whole sordid story and inform him that next year, it's his turn.