I stare at the picture of my dog, my entire body clenched as I wait for the series of shots. The nurse said I’ll need six pokes in each thigh for something that sounded like “immune goblins” and I can’t get past the image of tiny monsters biting at my cells as the needles invade my body. Should I have told the nurse I’m autistic? Would that have changed my care in a positive way?
I take a deep breath and I hear her approach, wheeling a metal cart. “All right, Mr. Barber.” She winks. Is Eila right that the nurse is flirting with me? That seems inappropriate, but maybe she has a thing for men who can’t handle shots. I grit my teeth and bear it when I’m due for a tetanus booster, but most years I don’t even get the flu shot. I just really cannot stand the thought of being … pierced.
I should have studied biomedical engineering and developed some new method to deliver these kinds of medications.
Nurse Stacia has a tray with a baker’s dozen needles lined up and a stack of alcohol wipes. “First I’ll clean the area,” she says as she wipes the wet pad along my leg. The disinfectant evaporates quickly, making me shiver. I am deeply uncomfortable, but I know I have to do this. Or do I? I begin to calculate the probability that the bat was rabid … but then I remember that rabies is 100% fatal. Yes, I need to go through with this. I’m still doing math with my eyes squeezed shut when I feel the pinch of the first shot. I shriek.
“Sorry,” Stacia says without looking. She jabs the second shot into my leg a few inches from the first injection site.
I grip the edge of the gurney and stare at the ceiling. I know I’m groaning and I’m actively forcing myself not to rock back and forth as the jabs keep on coming. “Can you relax your legs at all, Ben? This will hurt less if you can ease up the tension…”
I shake my head, unable to contemplate adjusting anything at all about my posture. Then I hear a welcome sound. Eila is back. I turn to the hall and see her dark head as she hurries toward me. “I’m here! Did you see the picture I sent? Oh, poor Ben.”
Eila crosses the threshold and sees Stacia get started on my second leg. I keep my eyes glued to Eila as she crosses the room and stands by my side. I smell her, sunshine and green things, and begin to relax ever so slightly. She squeezes my hand, face awash with sympathy. I think that’s what it is. Eila doesn’t seem like the sort of person to pity people.
I let my head sink to her shoulder, she wraps an arm around my face, shielding my eyes. The shots hurt less. Or the shock of them bothers me less, at any rate.
“Just the arm left,” comes Stacia’s voice and I feel the cold of the alcohol wipe on my left deltoid. I know I’m moaning into Eila’s shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She starts stroking my hair and I want to sink into that sensation, revel in the scent and warmth of her.
A few moments pass and I peel myself away to see Stacia has left the room. Confused, I furrow my brow and look around. Eila tosses me my jeans. “She went for your paperwork. You want me to turn around while you get dressed?”
I shake my head and tug on my pants, shedding the gown to put my polo back on and then running my fingers through my hair to try and settle it down from whatever mess it’s become.
“You feeling, okay?” Eila looks at the floor and I see her cheeks are pink. I wonder if she likes anything about the sight of me half naked. Do I detect any sort of interest from her? Would I know how to proceed if she is interested?
“My legs hurt,” I admit, and she looks up as I wince. “I hate this.”
She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Well, the good news is you won’t die of rabies.” I glance at our joined hands and can’t help the smile breaking across my face. Tentatively, I interlace our fingers and my heart stumbles. Eila squeezes and smiles back at me.
We sit in tired silence until someone else comes into the room with a pile of paperwork. “You’re all set, Mr. Barber.” The tech, whose name tag reads Anton, hands me my insurance card and a small card. “You can pop into the urgent care on Centre Ave in four days for the next shot.”
I thank him and slide from the gurney, walking gingerly toward the exit, my hand still held tight in Eila’s.