The Flu Shot Emmy Award
They had a flu shot clinic at dLife yesterday. This happens in most offices around this time of year. The nurse comes in, you submit your form, and she sticks a needle in your arm. Easy-peasy.
Not for me-sie.
I can’t stand needles. Irony, anyone? The diabetic who hates needles? That’s me. Better said: I fear any needle I’m not in control of. After administering my own injections for over seventeen years and using an insulin pump for the last two and a half, I am very accustomed to doing my own shots. When I was a little girl at the pediatrician’s office, my doctor would let me put my hand on his wrist as he administered the shot because he knew I needed some semblance of control over the needle. If I’m just sitting and waiting for that needle to slide into my skin … oooh, I can’t stand the thought of it. Having my blood drawn at Joslin is a nightmare and the lab technicians remember me as, “Hey, you’re that girl we had to sit on to draw blood when you were a kid!” Now I just turn a ghastly shade of pale.
So yesterday, the nurse came to give flu shots. And, knowing my mother panics if I don’t have this shot every year, I stood in line and waited amongst my co-workers.
My heart started to race a small bit from the anxiety of the needle-to-come.
“You okay?” Marketing Guy asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just hate needles.”
IT Guy who busts on me daily leaned in. “You hate needles?”
“I fully recognize the irony. But I hate any needle I’m not controlling.”
The shots were being given in the conference room, which is behind plate glass walls. I could see every syringe that the nurse drew up. I started to get a little jittery.
“You really don’t like this, do you?” Marketing Guy asked.
“Not really, but it will be okay.” The Senior Editor walked to have her shot. I couldn’t control myself. “Good luck!” I called after her.
My turn. Nerves shot. (No pun intended.) I walked towards the glass doors with as much confidence as my shaky knees could muster.
“Good luck!” Giggles from the line behind me.
The nurse examined my form. I fidgeted beside her.
“Little nervous?” she asked with a smile. “It won’t hurt a bit.”
“I know. But I’m still anxious. I’m diabetic, too, so it’s bizarre to be afraid of needles.”
“Makes sense to me. Good thing you’re getting a shot. You’re in the high-risk group.” She opened a plastic sleeve and removed a sterilized syringe. I looked back over my shoulder. The group waved at me.
“They’re busting on me for being nervous.” I grinned at her.
“Looks like you should pretend to pass out afterwards.” She grinned back and uncapped the needle.
“Here we go, quick pinch … you’re fine. But they don’t need to know that. Go ahead and slump over to the side.” She pulled the needle away from my arm. I let my head roll to the side and collapse onto my arm on the long conference table.
“Are the looking?” I whispered.
“Yeah. They look sort of concerned.”
I popped back up, put my cardigan back on, and shook the nurse’s hand.
“Thanks for playing.”
She laughed. “Anytime.”
I walked back towards the line and tossed out a grin. A co-worker grabbed one of the many Telly awards that dLife has won. “Here’s your Emmy, Kerri.”
I’d like to thank the academy ... and the patience of the wonderful nurse ...