Injections

Thanks to the efforts of several generations of test tube wielding scientists in white coats, today's children can be protected from many of the nastier childhood diseases with a quick jab or ten from a friendly nurse at your local GP surgery. Or at least this is the way it seems from our perspective. Little Miss K begs to differ.

To her, injections are a major trauma. They are inflicted by evil, merciless women with big needles and the explicit consent of her duplicitous parents. Fortunately nurses are easily identifiable by their blue uniforms and misleadingly calm mantra of 'Don't worry, Little Miss K, this won't hurt and it will be over before you know it.' Except it isn't over quickly enough. And it will hurt. And, boy, will you feel the extent of her displeasure.

Imagine what is going through her mind... 'Mamma? Daddy? Who is that scary lady? What's that she's holding? I hope it's not what I think it is. Are you wearing your protective ear muffs because I am going to let you know very soon exactly how unhappy I am. (Deep intake of breath) Huh? Wait, was that it? Hey, come back here Scary Lady, I haven't finished with you! Sod it, I'm going to yell anyway. 1, 2, 8, Charlie, Lola...'

Come to think of it, any medical professional that comes anywhere near her is Someone Who Should Not Be Trusted. They will ask her horrible parents to undress her. Big Scary Doctor will then get something cold and metallic and stick it to her chest, prod her with wooden somethings, or force her to do Tubbyrobics without a) the music from Boogie Beebies and b) her consent. And all for 'her own good'. Every time I go to the doctors with Little Miss, I dread the moment when she makes that 'I Am Not Amused' face, closely followed by the 'Don't You Dare' grimace and the 'I Want To Go Home, Now!' yell. It's not pretty.

And I pity the first dentist that attempts to examine her teeth. It's hard enough cleaning them. I can imagine Little Miss starting off with a low but insistent mantra of 'no no no no no' then making a break for the door as soon as the dentist looms over and points that light at her mouth.

Back in mid June, me and Little Miss K were visiting my father at his nursing home. It was Granddad J's birthday and he had opted to have his birthday cake in his room. Little Miss was not in a very good mood. I had already taken her away from her paddling pool and some vital pottering around the garden. Her grandfather's room was even hotter and more uncomfortable than the 30 degree Celsius heat outside. And maybe that pretty but heavy denim dress was a mistake in retrospect.

At four o'clock sharp, eight nurses rushed into the room with a large sponge cake, all singing 'Happy Birthday To You'. Little Miss K's mouth formed a perfectly round 'O' as she realised that they might be packing hypodermic syringes. And all for her. Her facial expression changed into in a mask of abject terror and she started to wail uncontrollably. She hugged me tighter and tighter. The nurses tried to act festively, joking with Granddad J and complimenting him on his granddaughter. Another took some photos to record the agony for posterity. Then my father blew out the candles and another nurse distributed the cake. And then they were gone. Little Miss, poor thing, didn't calm down until she was back in the car and we were half way home.

The nursing home gave me copies of the photos a week or so later. One photo in particular is quite memorable. In the foreground I'm holding a distraught Little Miss K doing a passable impression of a koala crossed with Edvard Munch's 'The Scream'. In the background her grandfather is blowing out the candles on his cake. Definitely one for the family album.

So does Little Miss K have Iatrophobia? Hopefully not. A few days ago she had her Pneumococcal booster. Little Miss said 'Hello' to the nurse and I sat her on my lap. Then I pulled down her jog pants and the injection was over and done before she had a chance to work out what had happened. Little Miss started to squeak once she realised that a fast one had been pulled on her, but cheered up immediately when the nurse put an 'I've Been Brave Today' sticker on her jumper. Then Little Miss said 'Bye Bye' and made a bolt for the door, Mamma and Daddy in hot pursuit.

I'm so glad that stickers are available on the NHS.