Oh, the old flu shots.
An annual ritual guaranteed to stiffen your arm or put a hitch in your get-along if you dropped your drawers for a hip injection.
I usually get the shot in my arm, and even when I don’t feel the prick of the needle by the next morning it is difficult to brush my hair with the inflicted arm.
But, I traipse religiously to the office of pain each fall (that’s October or November in the northern hemisphere), and feel I’ve protected myself from floating and invasive germs that are just waiting to attack me. And sure enough, as May follows January, the flu follows the shot.
I’m not saying the bug comes as a result of the injection, but nonetheless, I seem to attract whatever viruses are immune to that year’s particular concoction of anti-flu juice the experts are predicting will keep your head above grave level.
When I complain to the Doc that I will get attacked regardless of my steadfast belief ‘this year will be different’, her response is “but you probably won’t die. Without the shot you might.”
And that, my friends, keeps me returning to the sterile hallways of a medical clinic to expose my upper arm to a seemingly benign punch of life saving liquid.
And yes, this fall I got my shot, a month or so later I was accosted by the flu bug, but I’m here to tell you I lived thru it.
Thanks, Doc, for keeping me alive.
Read more about flu shots at https://weeklyprompts.com/2019/02/06/word-prompt-flu-shot/.