Sunday’s Column: A SON Takes A Shot
Youngest SON of Thunder has taken to the couch a lot lately.
He is, to put it simply, a walking petri dish of Streptococcal pharyngitis. Or to use the more technical term, he gets strep throat a lot lately.
If anyone at his school gets strep, he gets it as well. All it takes is a look and he’s down for the count. Based on the number of co-pays I’ve shelled out, it would have been cheaper to just pay cash for the tonsillectomy and be done with it. That’s next on the agenda.
But that would result in even more missed school, so the Little Black Dress decided we needed a stop-gap measure. And back to the doctor she went with Youngest in tow.
I was at work, working away when The Dress called. Seems she and the doctors had reviewed Youngest’s medical chart and determined that since school started, he basically had strep about as much as he didn’t. The prescription drugs were not working.
It was time for a shot.
The reason for the call was Youngest was, to put it mildly, beyond livid. He also refused to look at, much less talk to the LBD. Something about a traitor. So I had to play dad and convince him everything was alright and just be brave and it will be over in a second. And then I had to include all the necessary bribes.
As I said, I was not there for the torture session, but it was recounted in great detail later. From what I understand, Youngest was told he was to get one shot in the bum. Plans sometimes change.
For when it was time for the shot, not one but two nurses came in. Each with a shot. And it was explained (ha) to Youngest he would have to take one in each thigh because a bum shot meant he couldn’t sit for a month or something like that.
As it was relayed to me, the LBD held his hand, the nurses commenced the torture and Youngest fell back on the table, threw his arm over his eyes and yelled “what the (put in your expletive here).
This apparently made the nurses burst out laughing, but to their credit they maintained somewhat of a professional manner and did not break the needles in his leg. This also apparently mortified The Dress to no end, the idea her precious baby even knew such words.
When I got home, Youngest came out to meet me, although he walked like Frankenstein. He was quite proud of himself, pointing out he got the last Dr. Pepper and a lollipop with gum in the center for his bravery. He was quite emphatic I know that it was the last Dr. Pepper they had and he earned it by golly.
I then got a replay of the events. He held his fingers about two inches apart to show me how long the needle was. I cast a dubious look at him, he looked at his fingers and agreed that was not the proper length. He then held his fingers three inches apart.
I was about to give the life lesson on lying when The Dress approached and simply nodded, it was three inches long. And it took one, two, three, four, five, six seven, eight seconds to get the contents of the syringe into Youngest’s legs. He counted.
But at least he is back in school. For today at least.
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