Seeking a scar
Bulletin at noon! Shooting season has begun. That wasn’t exactly how the story was reported, but it was important news, just the same. The vaccination campaign, against whatever strain of influenza is likely to cross my path in the next few months, started this morning. And here we were; already lunch time and we weren’t in line. I’ve learned that getting a place, early, counts.
Actually, the process is not as chaotic as it was only a few years ago. Now, they have enough people on hand to collect forms, point out the empty chairs, stab my upper arm with a pointy affair and get me on my way. A matter of minutes, betting against a week of illness… I’m in. And so we headed down, parked, answered that we were chronics and enjoyed a free needle from the forces of government. I feel so much better about my life and the possibilities ahead.
An anecdote (that’s why you’re here, right?) Back when I started going to school, getting vaccinated was a really big deal. My parents took me to the Drill Hall, down by the park, and I remember little else other than a sense of disappointment. Mine didn’t take! No huge scab near the shoulder, no really cool scar like my classmates. I didn’t need (yet another) reason to be different.
The law requires and the parents obey; I did get a revaccination, and if the scar on my hand is what I think it is, the second time around may have been handled by someone more accustomed to other things. Anyhow, I’ve never been stricken by whatever we were so afraid of catching (smallpox? Am I that old?) And a flu vaccination just makes sense.
For the record, I wanted to offer you a photo of a generic vaccination scar, but the images available on Google are much too graphic for those who don’t need to know…
