I received an e-mail from Adell's school just the other day. Unfortunately it wasn't a happy e-mail. It informed me that according to the school's records Adell was short a vaccine and would need to have it taken care of immediately. I was surprised - it was months ago that I took Adell to get her kindergarten shots. I was under the impression that she was finished. I called the school, and then I called the doctor's office - but sure enough - she really was missing one booster vaccine. I'd have to bring her in to get it done.
Adell's latest experience with receiving vaccines was traumatic for her, despite the fact it was over 6 months ago. It had a very long lasting impact. In fact, she has even reported a few nightmares involving immunizations - horrific plots with demented nurses chasing her with huge needles, laughing their evil laughs. She actually was very brave when she received her kindergarten shots, but she was surprised how much it hurt (even though I thought I'd prepared her), and had no desire to repeat the experience. It also seems to be one of those memories that gets exaggerated over time - it seems a lot worse to her now than it was then.
I reluctantly decided I'd inform her of this new "missing shot" predicament when I picked her up from school that day. I waited for her at the corner, like every day, and she ran to me with a huge grin on her face, again like every day. I hugged her, asked her about her day and we walked to the car. She was bouncy and happy. She'd had a great day.
We started home. We got about half-way when I finally broke the news to her. I had anticipated an intense reaction. I knew she would not like hearing about another shot, especially since I'd only recently told her she didn't need any more shots for a very long time. Now I was going back on that promise. I braced myself, and quickly explained the situation. Her eyes got wide, her breath quickened, and she burst into tears. Her reaction was much stronger than I had anticipated. She wailed and screamed, curled up into a ball and just fell to pieces. I stared at the road in awe. I couldn't think of anything to say to calm her down or make the situation better. I tried telling her it was only one little shot and it would be no big deal, but she was beyond reason. She was nearing the point of hystarics, I pulled over and waited for a minute until she was a little more composed. She cried and cried. She was moaning things about hating shots, and that it will hurt, and that she doesn't want any more shots. She even brought up the betrayal she felt, because I'd told her she was done with shots. I was caught somewhere between tears and giggles - I was just so taken back by her reaction. I tried to reassure her, comfort her, but nothing seemed to be working.
We got home, Daddy greeted her, then noticed she was in some sort of state. He asked her what happened, and she flew right back into her fit again. I quickly explained the situation to him, yelling over the wailing 6-year-old. He tried to cheer her up, saying a lot of the same things I'd already tried, like how it's only one little shot and she was brave, so she'd be fine. She couldn't listen anymore. She covered her ears and ran, screaming and crying, to her room and she slammed the door. Hannah was calling after her, "it's okay, Adell, don't cry!!!"
We left her in there for a while, hoping she'd calm down. When she finally came up the stairs, neither Daddy or myself were brave enough to mention anything about shots. Her face was red and puffy from crying, but she was calmer. She asked about the shot, and if it would hurt a lot. We both assured her it would only pinch a little and that it would be over quickly. She took a deep breath and asked, "is it only one shot?" I assured her it was only one, and then she'd be done - for real this time. With a stroke of inspiration I also told her I'd apply a "magic cream" before her shot, so that it won't hurt so much. She liked that idea. I secretly hoped that plan wouldn't somehow backfire on me. We didn't talk about the shot for the rest of the evening.
The next morning, we ate breakfast, dressed for school and headed out to the doctor's office. Adell was nervous and quite. I continued to reassure her. I complimented her for deciding to be so brave. She asked again and again to make sure I had the magic cream with me. I assured her I did (just a little tube of lotion I'd packed in to diaper bag).
We sat in the waiting room, and Adell told anyone and everyone who came in the door that she was nervous about her shot, even the receptionist. They all smiled at her reassuringly and told her it would be okay.
Her new found courage lasted until we got into the room with the waiting nurse. She sat on the krinkly paper and tried taking deep breaths like I'd instructed to help keep herself calm. She asked if I could put on the "magic cream" now. I pulled out the lotion and applied it to both arms - just in case I picked the wrong arm. After several agonizing minutes the nurse finally appeared with syringe in hand. Adell's calm facade vanished and she literally bolted from the table. She hid in the corner behind the table in the most impossible place to reach her. She curled in a ball and refused to come out. She was crying and wailing as loud as she could. Hannah and Mia both watched in shocked silence at Adell's little panic episode.
There I was struggling with my panic-sticken daughter, wondering how many kids react to shots like this. I reminded her about the magic cream, but that didn't seem to hold any more incentive. She didn't care about magic cream anymore.
I thought I could cox her out with soothing words. But no, she wouldn't come out. I exchanged a glance at the nurse, waiting patiently on the other side of the room. She seemed to be having a hard time keeping a straight face. She didn't offer any assitance, so I continued to try to persuade Adell to come out. She refused. I got a little frustrated and my voice changed from soothing to exasperated. I demanded, I threatened, I pleaded....nothing....she just kept crying and moaning things like "I don't want a shot anymore," and wouldn't move.
I realized it would have to come to force. So I girdded my loins, and reached in after her. I grabbed whatever part of her I could get a hold of and dragged her out. At first I tried to do this with some measure of dignity, and hoped it didn't look like child abuse. She put up such a terrific fight, however, clawing and kicking with all her might, that dignity went right out the window pretty quickly. Just like in the cartoons, she grabbed the end of the table and hung on with all her might. It was hard work to pry her fingers from the edge of the table, but I did finally manage it. I got pretty bruised in the process, but at last I was able to pull her out from behind the table and lay her back on the krinkly paper. She was still fighting me. She was screaming hysterically and flailing her limbs. The nurse, who wore an expression similar to one who was preparing to squash a spider, and informed Adell that it would hurt a lot worse if she didn't relax. I was too preoccupied with containing my daughter to shoot her that dark look like I wanted. Very helpful, I thought sarcastically.
I pinned Adell to the table and locked my muscles. At some point during the struggle, the nurse apparently, acted and the shot was administered. "It's over," she declared. She'd placed the shot in the right thigh, rather than the arm, like I had believed. Ooops...so much for "magic cream."
Adell yelled a bit more about how "that hurt!" Once it was really over though, the storm seemed to be over too. She sat up, and was became perfectly cheerful again, she even smile at the nurse. Then she asked for her prize, and could I please put some magic cream on her leg now, since I'd messed up and put in only on her arms? I obliged.
I shook out my bruised limbs, rubbed my battered jaw, and thought about applying a little "magic cream" to my own injuries...at least it was over...
As we gathered our things and headed for the door, the receptionist asked how things went. Adell told her she'd been very brave, and it wasn't so bad. I just shook my head in silence.
On the way home, Adell made me promise that she would not have to receive anymore shots for a long, long time. I promised.
Adell's latest experience with receiving vaccines was traumatic for her, despite the fact it was over 6 months ago. It had a very long lasting impact. In fact, she has even reported a few nightmares involving immunizations - horrific plots with demented nurses chasing her with huge needles, laughing their evil laughs. She actually was very brave when she received her kindergarten shots, but she was surprised how much it hurt (even though I thought I'd prepared her), and had no desire to repeat the experience. It also seems to be one of those memories that gets exaggerated over time - it seems a lot worse to her now than it was then.
I reluctantly decided I'd inform her of this new "missing shot" predicament when I picked her up from school that day. I waited for her at the corner, like every day, and she ran to me with a huge grin on her face, again like every day. I hugged her, asked her about her day and we walked to the car. She was bouncy and happy. She'd had a great day.
We started home. We got about half-way when I finally broke the news to her. I had anticipated an intense reaction. I knew she would not like hearing about another shot, especially since I'd only recently told her she didn't need any more shots for a very long time. Now I was going back on that promise. I braced myself, and quickly explained the situation. Her eyes got wide, her breath quickened, and she burst into tears. Her reaction was much stronger than I had anticipated. She wailed and screamed, curled up into a ball and just fell to pieces. I stared at the road in awe. I couldn't think of anything to say to calm her down or make the situation better. I tried telling her it was only one little shot and it would be no big deal, but she was beyond reason. She was nearing the point of hystarics, I pulled over and waited for a minute until she was a little more composed. She cried and cried. She was moaning things about hating shots, and that it will hurt, and that she doesn't want any more shots. She even brought up the betrayal she felt, because I'd told her she was done with shots. I was caught somewhere between tears and giggles - I was just so taken back by her reaction. I tried to reassure her, comfort her, but nothing seemed to be working.
We got home, Daddy greeted her, then noticed she was in some sort of state. He asked her what happened, and she flew right back into her fit again. I quickly explained the situation to him, yelling over the wailing 6-year-old. He tried to cheer her up, saying a lot of the same things I'd already tried, like how it's only one little shot and she was brave, so she'd be fine. She couldn't listen anymore. She covered her ears and ran, screaming and crying, to her room and she slammed the door. Hannah was calling after her, "it's okay, Adell, don't cry!!!"
We left her in there for a while, hoping she'd calm down. When she finally came up the stairs, neither Daddy or myself were brave enough to mention anything about shots. Her face was red and puffy from crying, but she was calmer. She asked about the shot, and if it would hurt a lot. We both assured her it would only pinch a little and that it would be over quickly. She took a deep breath and asked, "is it only one shot?" I assured her it was only one, and then she'd be done - for real this time. With a stroke of inspiration I also told her I'd apply a "magic cream" before her shot, so that it won't hurt so much. She liked that idea. I secretly hoped that plan wouldn't somehow backfire on me. We didn't talk about the shot for the rest of the evening.
The next morning, we ate breakfast, dressed for school and headed out to the doctor's office. Adell was nervous and quite. I continued to reassure her. I complimented her for deciding to be so brave. She asked again and again to make sure I had the magic cream with me. I assured her I did (just a little tube of lotion I'd packed in to diaper bag).
We sat in the waiting room, and Adell told anyone and everyone who came in the door that she was nervous about her shot, even the receptionist. They all smiled at her reassuringly and told her it would be okay.
Her new found courage lasted until we got into the room with the waiting nurse. She sat on the krinkly paper and tried taking deep breaths like I'd instructed to help keep herself calm. She asked if I could put on the "magic cream" now. I pulled out the lotion and applied it to both arms - just in case I picked the wrong arm. After several agonizing minutes the nurse finally appeared with syringe in hand. Adell's calm facade vanished and she literally bolted from the table. She hid in the corner behind the table in the most impossible place to reach her. She curled in a ball and refused to come out. She was crying and wailing as loud as she could. Hannah and Mia both watched in shocked silence at Adell's little panic episode.
There I was struggling with my panic-sticken daughter, wondering how many kids react to shots like this. I reminded her about the magic cream, but that didn't seem to hold any more incentive. She didn't care about magic cream anymore.
I thought I could cox her out with soothing words. But no, she wouldn't come out. I exchanged a glance at the nurse, waiting patiently on the other side of the room. She seemed to be having a hard time keeping a straight face. She didn't offer any assitance, so I continued to try to persuade Adell to come out. She refused. I got a little frustrated and my voice changed from soothing to exasperated. I demanded, I threatened, I pleaded....nothing....she just kept crying and moaning things like "I don't want a shot anymore," and wouldn't move.
I realized it would have to come to force. So I girdded my loins, and reached in after her. I grabbed whatever part of her I could get a hold of and dragged her out. At first I tried to do this with some measure of dignity, and hoped it didn't look like child abuse. She put up such a terrific fight, however, clawing and kicking with all her might, that dignity went right out the window pretty quickly. Just like in the cartoons, she grabbed the end of the table and hung on with all her might. It was hard work to pry her fingers from the edge of the table, but I did finally manage it. I got pretty bruised in the process, but at last I was able to pull her out from behind the table and lay her back on the krinkly paper. She was still fighting me. She was screaming hysterically and flailing her limbs. The nurse, who wore an expression similar to one who was preparing to squash a spider, and informed Adell that it would hurt a lot worse if she didn't relax. I was too preoccupied with containing my daughter to shoot her that dark look like I wanted. Very helpful, I thought sarcastically.
I pinned Adell to the table and locked my muscles. At some point during the struggle, the nurse apparently, acted and the shot was administered. "It's over," she declared. She'd placed the shot in the right thigh, rather than the arm, like I had believed. Ooops...so much for "magic cream."
Adell yelled a bit more about how "that hurt!" Once it was really over though, the storm seemed to be over too. She sat up, and was became perfectly cheerful again, she even smile at the nurse. Then she asked for her prize, and could I please put some magic cream on her leg now, since I'd messed up and put in only on her arms? I obliged.
I shook out my bruised limbs, rubbed my battered jaw, and thought about applying a little "magic cream" to my own injuries...at least it was over...
As we gathered our things and headed for the door, the receptionist asked how things went. Adell told her she'd been very brave, and it wasn't so bad. I just shook my head in silence.
On the way home, Adell made me promise that she would not have to receive anymore shots for a long, long time. I promised.
