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The Shots Heard 'Round the World (Part 2)

It’s been nearly three weeks since I last told you guys I would fill you in on our flu shot saga, and I’m certain most of my faithful blog readers have died of curiosity. You must understand that I have a very good reason for leaving you all hanging for this long.

We won the lottery. 

Kidding. We didn’t win the lottery. We’d have to play to win.

But I did have a cooking and cleaning fest that lasted three weeks since I finally felt well enough to enjoy cooking again. And that somewhat felt like winning the lottery. With my newfound energy, I made a Chicken Piccata, which was actually edible. Here’s the great recipe I used.

Aaaaaaaaaand that’s pretty much the only good dish I made. One dish. That’s my definition of a cooking fest.

[Martha Stewart, ladies and gentlemen.]
 
If I did win the lottery, I would hire a live-in, professional chef. No question.

I’d better tell you this flu shot story before you die of boredom.

So, after JJ and Averi absolutely traumatized every child in the pediatrician’s office, Brian and I thought it would be a stellar parenting move to show them how to handle a flu shot like a pro. We received our vaccines without incident while the children watched in awe. They couldn’t believe we didn’t scream and cry. I chose to leave out the part where it used to take half a dozen nurses to pin me down for my vaccines when I was their age. That was a detail they didn’t need at that moment.

Later that evening I went to dinner with two of my best friends. A few hours into our meal, I started shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I just couldn’t be still. My back began to ache, my shoulders were tense, and I started to get a nagging headache. By the time I returned to my parents’ house after dinner, I could hardly move. I had violent chills, and I was certain that flu shot had given me the flu. And though the doctors and nurses always reassure me that there is no live virus in the shots, I don’t trust their science. I always get sick.

But this time was much more severe. The chills lasted through the night and into the next morning. My fever returned repeatedly even with Tylenol. By the following afternoon, I couldn’t take it any more. Since we were staying with my parents and not close to my doctor, I had to visit the emergency room.

[Surprise, surprise. Katy HAD to go to the ER.]
 
Y’all, I will visit the ER every single day if I feel that my unborn child is in danger. No hesitation.

[She never hesitated even before she was pregnant.]
 
Touché.
 
Brian and I went to the nearest ER where the staff was very thorough and cautious. They did nasal swabs, urine samples, blood work, and a variety of rather unenjoyable tests to ensure nothing more serious had caused my symptoms. I was surprised when the doctor requested that the nurses give me fluids to lower my pulse rate. Apparently, they don’t like to see 124 beats per minute. The medical community calls that a “tacky” pulse. Someone finally explained that to me after I overheard 3 or 4 people call me tacky.

I thought it was because I was still in my pajamas. 

After they pumped me full of fluids, I was told that the doctors and nurses found a different sort of infection that could have caused my symptoms. (I’m still convinced it was the flu shot.) In an effort to treat the infection as quickly as possible, I was given a large dose of antibiotics in the ER. The nurse brought me 4 pills and said she had more medicine to give me. When I asked if we needed to run to the pharmacy, she indicated that the rest of the antibiotics would be in the form of a shot.

No big deal. I had already endured three shots in the past 24 hours. I indicated that she might want to use my right arm since my left veins were probably drained.

“No, I won’t need your arms, sweetie. This one goes in your hip.”

I assured her that after two babies, two epidurals, and all the uncomfortable tests she and her colleagues had done to me in the ER, I could handle a shot in my hip.

The nurse seemed to take a long time to prepare the vial of fluids for my shot. She rubbed it between her hands, shook it for several minutes, and rubbed it some more. While she prepped, I told her this story:

“Once, I had to get two shots in my hip because I was having back spasms. The nurse gave me one shot and then said, ‘Now this one is really going to hurt.’ Because she said that, I flexed as it went into my muscle. I don’t think I walked straight for a week after that.”

The nurse softly chuckled as she continued to work the fluid out of the vial and into the syringe. “Okay, I’m ready.”

I offered her my left hip since it was closest to her.

I would later regret that decision.

I felt the stick, and I was pleased that it wasn’t painful. I even felt some of the fluid leave the syringe. But the moment that gelatinous substance hit my muscle, my leg twitched, and I let out a yelp that I would expect to hear from Averi. I didn’t scream per se, but I sure did let that sweet nurse know that I was RATHER uncomfortable with the situation.

I couldn’t see the nurse through my watery eyes, but Brian says she struggled to get the fluid out of the syringe. At one point she had to really hunker down to finish the job.

“Okay, all done.”

As I attempted to roll back over, I said, “I had no idea that would be so STINKING painful!”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t want to say anything after you told me that story.”

“Holy CRAP that was painful!” Tears welled up in my eyes, and I began to laugh hysterically. It was so painful I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Yeah. It’s pretty thick. Not as bad as a penicillin shot, but it’s pretty bad.”

I kept laughing as I did my best to adjust myself into a comfortable seated position. I realized there would be no such thing for a while. And it was at that moment I also realized that I offered up the only hip that I’m comfortable sleeping on thanks to pregnancy.

The nurse apologized for rendering me unable to walk straight, but she assured me that the pain wouldn’t last for more than a few hours. This was also laughable since Brian and I had to leave straight from the ER to drive to his job interview in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

After I was discharged, I limped over to the side of the room to gather up my belongings. I leaned over to get my purse and proceeded to slam my head into the corner of a cabinet.

So, if you’re following me, I went into the ER with a fever and left with a racing pulse, three shots, a limp, and a knot on my head.

Serves me right for overreacting.

Moving Update: I will do my absolute best to keep up the blogging these next few weeks because I have some more exciting news to share about where we might be moving next! Don’t forget to subscribe to my posts at the top right of this page so you can stay informed. I promise I won’t deliver any nonsense to your inbox. Unless you consider my posts nonsense. And then I can make no promises.

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Comments to "The Shots Heard ‘Round the World (Part 2)"

  1. Pingback: Gender Reveal? - (Nobody Puts) Katy in a Corner

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