The urgent care clinic isn’t crowded.
I sign in at the front desk and hand over my insurance card.
Nico stands by my side. Mrs. Noble is here, just in case, but she’s confident I have all I need, so she takes a seat in a chair in the waiting room and lets me do the talking.
“I’d like to see Dr. Villapando,” I say. “I’m here for my vaccinations. He told me he’d see me if I had my legal paperwork.” I hold up a folder and pat it.
The young woman behind the front desk studies my card. Studies me. “Have a seat and we’ll call you in. It shouldn’t be long. It’s been a slow day.”
“Thank you.”
Nico and I sit in two empty seats next to his mom. I’m too anxious to thumb through any of the celebrity magazines on the table next to me. I simply sit. And wait. Nico puts his hand on my knee to keep it from bouncing.
I’m on sensory overload. There are voices behind the door to the hallway. The sharp smell of antiseptic. Soft shoes shuffling. Pens clicking. Keyboards tapping. Bright fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering.
A patient with his arm in a sling enters and walks to the counter to sign in. And then the nurse opens the door to the hallway and calls my name.
“Well,” I say, standing up and looking at Nico and his mom. “Here I go.”
“Would you like us to come back with you?” Mrs. Noble asks.
“Nope. I need to do this on my own.”
Nico hooks his pinkie finger with mine. “See you on the other side.”
I laugh. “Way to make it not sound scary.”
“Ready?” the nurse asks.
I stand up straight. Smooth out my cardigan. “You have no idea.”
I follow her to the nurses’ station in the hallway behind the door, where she takes my vitals. She weighs and measures me, then shuffles me off to one of the exam rooms, where I sit on the oh-so-familiar paper-covered table and wait for Dr. Villapando.
He isn’t at all surprised to see me.
“You did it,” he says, holding his hand up for a high five.
I slap his hand. “I did. Where do we start? I can pull up a makeup vaccine schedule.” I thumb through my folder.
He gently pushes it away. “I’ve already researched everything. I got curious when you came in demanding your shots the first time.” He shrugs. Smiles. “I guess I had a pretty good feeling you’d be back with everything we needed.” He rubs his hands together. “We should start with the Tdap vaccination today. That’s tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis, also known as whooping cough. It’ll be two doses. One today and the next one four weeks from now. How does that sound?”
“It sounds good. I trust you.”
He stands up and the stool slides back behind him. “Let me just prep the shot.”
He heads out the door and I sit and wait. My eyes dart to posters and ibuprofen dosage charts and a glass jar of otoscope specula next to the sink until Dr. Villapando returns with a small black tray like you’d get your bill on at a restaurant.
“Okay,” he says, putting on latex gloves. He wipes the top of my arm clean with rubbing alcohol, holds up the syringe, and flicks it once like he’s swatting a mosquito. “You ready?”
“Will it hurt?”
“A little.”
“Okay.” I drag in a breath. Squinch my eyes shut. “Go.”
“It’ll feel like a little pinch, but it’ll be over before you know it.”
He stabs my arm with the needle, and I hiss through my teeth. It hurts more than a pinch. I remember plunging the EpiPen into Nico’s thigh and counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
And then my shot is over. So quick. Like Nico’s EpiPen, something so important, so vital, takes literal seconds.
“All done.” I open my eyes as Dr. Villapando fastens a small circular Band-Aid to my arm. “I usually pass out lollipops.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Want one?”
“I’ll take a lollipop.”
He pulls a yellow one from the front pocket of his lab coat. “Lemon okay?”
I rip off the plastic cover. “Lemon is perfect.”
“Okay, then.” Dr. Villapando shoves the used syringe and latex gloves into an orange hazardous waste receptacle attached to the wall and gathers his little restaurant waiter tray. “See you again in four weeks. I’ll have a lollipop waiting.”
“See you then, Dr. Villapando. And thank you.”
He shakes my hand. “My pleasure, Juniper.”
I follow him out of the exam room. He heads to another patient in another room, and I head back to Nico and his mom. I don’t feel any different, but I also know I’m not the same person who walked in here. I can’t help but smile.
Nico stands up, excited, when he sees me.
“All good?” he asks.
“All great.”