Nurse Ratched

Butterfly: “Why, why, WHY does Mom make us get a flu shot every year?? None of my friends have to get them!”
Rock Star: “Because she hates us.”
Butterfly: “I can’t stand shots. I’d rather get the flu. I’d rather DIE!”
Rock Star: “Why couldn’t we belong to that religion that is against medical care?”
Butterfly: “I don’t know, but (pointing to the driver’s seat) she’s horrible!”

The above was a conversation between my teenagers yesterday, as I drove our minivan to the doctor’s office for our annual family bonding ritual: “ The Administration of the Influenza Vaccine.” Little Squirt sat oblivious in his car seat. He’s a “live in the moment” kind of guy.

They went on singing my praises all the way to the clinic. Call me Mommy Dearest, but I make my kids get the flu shot every year, because I love them and do not went them to suffer from influenza. I abstain. Not because I fear the shot, but because I would welcome an excuse to spend 3 full days in bed with a box of Kleenex and the remote control, my family waiting on me hand and foot.

We pulled up to the doctor’s office, and I corralled my reluctant children into the waiting room, where they spent another ten minutes wringing their hands in anxiety. Then we were ushered into a room where the nurse lined them up and stuck them. First Butterfly, then Little Squirt, and lastly Rock Star. It was all over in a few short minutes. Two cried and one was stoic. I won’t name names. I gave them sweet-filled treat bags for the ride home, to boost their endorphins and assuage my guilt. Then I told them about Madeline.

I worked as a Pediatric Nurse in an office for 12 years, giving thousands of shots to children of various ages and cooperative levels. On the occasion that I would have an extremely non-compliant or combative child, whom even the parent was unable to control, I would call for “Madeline.”

Madeline was the oldest and most experienced nurse in our pediatric office. She was big of form and personality, with a heart of gold deeply imbedded in a crusty exterior. She took a no-nonsense, “Old School” approach to her nursing skills. She’d march into the patient room with a loud, “What’s going on in here?!!”, move the startled parent out of the way, grab the bewildered child in a bear hug with a stern warning to “Hold still or else!”, and then I’d administer the required shots before they even knew what was happening. I’d leave the room in a fit of giggles, remembering how the child’s fear of the needle was greatly diminished by the terror of their interaction with Madeline. I’m guessing “The Bogey-Man” they dreamed of that night had her face.

I drove my children home, and reassured them that, even with tender deltoid muscles, they’d be able to carry their Trick-or-Treat bags the next evening. I pampered them with ice packs and put a movie on for all of them to watch together. And our ritual was done for the year.