My fear of shots and strange doctors in austere lab coats started at an extremely young age. I believe most people would agree that if somehow they could bypass the squeamish moment experienced at the dreadful office, the life expectancy would dramatically increase. Oh the horrors that are entailed once you are left in the sterile silence for the nurse to arrive, what mysteries lay behind her sly smile. Particularly one experience comes to mind when courage crosses my mind, enduring the ghastly visit and making it out alive and unaltered.
Unfortunately one morning during the Christmas break I woke up in a cold sweat, my eyes were glazed and a moat of drool surrounded my head like a halo. I gasped for air and swallowed my fear as I opened my mouth to see what was lodged in my throat. To my surprise, I had grown the largest bacteria culture known to man in my mouth. It was white and frothy and again I gasped, this time in disgust, my tonsils had been consumed by oozing pustules. It was time to visit the doctor, for one, I could not breathe, and two, the infection was highly painful and unattractive, fearing it would consume my face.
My mother drove me in quiet solitude; I knew what would be in store, definitely a kiss of penicillin. Immediately the doctor knew what was wrong as he plugged his nose and gazed into my mouth. He then shook his head and motioned for the nurse. I was not going to go through with it. Suddenly, my mother grabbed my rear and flashed a little skin and then the torture began. It felt as if syrup was passing through a pinhole. I felt my head become heavy and my arms limp and I thought I was going to lose it, and then it was finished.
It took courage to bear all and let that nurse stick it to me hard, but I thank her.
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