I had to get a shot the other day, and I thought I’d share my experience with you. I know many of y’all are squeamish (I first typed “squeamous”!) about getting a shot, so let Dr. JD take you through it in a non-squeamous way.
First, remember that shot I got a few weeks ago for back pain? And how I felt so great and mermaid-y? Well, it lasted about a week. Oh, but what a week it was, my peeps. I enjoyed it to its fullest.
But then: tragedy.
It was like in the movie Flowers for Algernon where Cliff Robertson is mentally challenged but then they inject him with rat serum and he gets all smart but then the rat serum wears off and he gets, er, non-smart again. And it’s heartbreaking because there’s that one point in the transition from smart to non-smart at which he’s still smart enough to realize he’s not so smart anymore. You cry. But by the end, he’s too stupid (I’m sorry, I was trying so hard to avoid that word!) to know any better. The end.
But in my case, I am NOT stupid, and I know that those damn drugs wore off. I don’t need no stinkin’ rat to tell ME!
So, I went to see my doctor, whose last name is similar enough to “Vegas” that I accidentally called him “Dr. Vegas” ONE TIME, and now he will forever be Dr. Vegas. It’s the price he has to pay for having me as a patient.
It went down something like this:
Dr. Vegas comes in, and we talk about how I’m doing. At one point I voice my concerns about Vicodin. I swear to you, the following conversation is somewhat shortened but otherwise verbatim:
Me: I think I’m taking too much Vicodin.
Dr. Vegas: Well, you know Vicodin is very addictive and . . . (insert long, boring story about Vicodin here).
Me: Yes, I see.
Dr. Vegas: And so, in conclusion, here’s some more Vicodin.
Me: Thank you?
Having dispensed the drugs (oh, yes, there were more), it was time for the shot.
Dr. Vegas decided I should have two shots, three weeks apart, for maximum efficacy (fancy word for “to make more efficable”).
And I said, sure, why not. Shoot some stuff into my body, I don’t care. The nurse appeared to take me to the shot room.
So, here I go, again, on my own
Going down the only road I’ve . . .
Wait, how did Whitesnake get in here? Ignore that.
In a different room with scary equipment, I was told to lie down on my stomach. On a table, not the floor.
Gripping my koru necklace in terror (yes, I know, I’ve already HAD this exact shot already, but I have to make this story a little exciting), I felt the nurse pull up my shirt and yank down my pants. (“Ooh, there’s the excitement!” readers squeal.)
Um, excuse me. Last time the shot was administered to the lower-middle part of my back. Does my butt REALLY need to be hanging out? Apparently it does, because when Dr. Vegas walks in, I get all embarrassed and pull my pants up. Seconds later the evil nurse pulls them down again.
Will THIS be the worst part of the experience for JD????
Because then really all that happened was that he rubbed the area with some stuff, stuck the needle in, injected the stuff, and did some other mysterious stuff that did NOT in the LEAST involve my exposed butt. And then. Done!
So you see, my children, getting a shot is really nothing to be afraid of. Especially when they give you Vicodin.
If YOU need to get a shot:
- Ignore that nurse and keep your butt covered. Unless you’re Kathy.
- I recommend lunges and squats just in case. If your butt must be exposed, it should at least look good.
- Ask for Dr. Vegas.
Stay tuned to find out!!!
DID the shot work? How long did it last? Will JD turn into a rat? When is she ever going to post a photo of her naked butt already? Did she take the Vicodin? (You’re stupider than Cliff Robertson if you have to ask THAT.)
Cat butt (modified) comes from here.