in THIS story (3)
I've had a life-long fear of injections since I was a little girl; I used to cry and cry whenever I was due to get one. I particularly dreaded getting needles in the bottom, because it was so painful and embarrassing. The worst part was that back in elementary school, we had to get shots at least twice a year, and we were always vaccinated in the bottom.
Some of you might recall a certain "health scare" back in the mid-80s. The rumor was highly publicized in the press, and our local school board over reacted, ruling that every girl in our school had to undergo two medical inspections per year, complete with inoculations and booster shots. None of us really understood what it was all about, but we all thought it was terribly unfair that the boys didn't have to have them too.
I was about 8 the first time we were herded into the clinic for the "new program". Most of us were already crying when the nurse told us to strip down to our panties and line up for our preliminary examination. We even had to take off our socks and singlets, because the doctor would be inspecting every part of our bodies. Needless to say, the physical was horrendously invasive, but it was little more than a warm up for the main event.
After the Doctor had finished examining us, we were ushered in groups of three towards the vaccination room, where two nurses were waiting with loaded hypodermics. Standing outside, you could hear the three girls ahead of you wailing in pain as the needles were slipped into their poor little bottoms. Long before we reached the door, all of us were sobbing tears of fright, knowing our turn was soon approaching. I was crying just as hard, realizing precisely how much it was going to hurt.
Some of us told the nurse we'd already had our shots, but she said that our parents hadn't provided the required paperwork. If the school didn't have the correct documentation, we had to take them all over again (a lot of girls were injected by mistake every year, the official policy was mandated by the county court at that time).
I practically fainted on the spot when the nurse called us in for our booster jabs. All three of us entered the room weeping in shame, crying all the louder when we saw the long, gleaming needles lined up on the medical tray. As we each had to receive three injections, they wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. The senior nurse made us turn around facing the examination table, then ordered to take our panties down to our knees.
One of my friends immediately begged to take hers in the arm, but the nurse simply shook her head in firm reply: "No, sweetheart, it has to be in the bottom." Obviously, the subject was not open for negotiation; being children, we had no say in the matter. We were instructed bend over the examination table with our bare bottoms raised for our shots.
Whimpering in utter humiliation, we lowered our panties down our legs, revealing our plump young bottom-cheeks to the staff. I burst into fresh tears as I assumed the position, thrusting my naked tooshie out for the first shot. I can still feel the goose bumps flaring over my arms and neck and tummy. Cool air whispered around my inner thighs, triggering uncontrolled tremors through the entire length of my body. Hearing the senior nurse step towards me, I closed my eyes in childish terror.
A second later, the needle plunged into my left cheek, just above the curve of the buttock. Screaming in agony, I clenched both sides at once, squirming my hips forward against the table. The needle seemed impossibly long and sharp, piercing white-hot inches into the smooth, tender flesh.
"Hold still, sweetie," the nurse said, picking the next syringe, "this won't take long." Her voice was genuinely sympathetic, but it did very little to reassure me. I instinctively knew the next shot would hurt twice as bad.
"Just relax your bottom," she soothed, then sank a wide-bore hypodermic into the other cheek. A huge bolt of pain exploded across my right buttock, streaking halfway down my leg in the process. I shrieked again, much louder than before, tears dripping from my little chin in a continuous stream.
“All right, last one,” the nurse remarked, raising the third needle, “this’ll only hurt a minute”. A final intramuscular jab, far worse than the last, penetrating deep into the soft flesh. Jostling my bottom back and forth, I dug my nails into the table cover, yowling at the top of my lungs.
It must have been a large syringe, because the nurse took an incredibly long time to depress the plunger. When she finally withdrew the needle, my bottom was throbbing in blue fire agony.
“There… that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she beamed, helping me adjust my panties back into place. Sniffling in childish misery, I nodded my agreement with further comment. At that point I would have said anything to escape that medical torture chamber. My two friends were also wiping their eyes, faces lowered in girlish shame while the junior nurse raised their undies.
“Good, then. You can go put your clothes back on, now – just go out through that door, and you can pick up a lollipop from the tray on your way back to class.”
We left through the back exit while the next three were waved in, tear-streaked and trembling with anxiety. The lollipops did very little to salve our wounded bottoms. In some cases, the bruises lasted for days; I had to sleep on my belly for over a week.
And now, a question:
• Injections are unnecessarily painful and many do not offer 100 percent protection. Should children be forced to undergo this frightening, painful and barbaric practice when other options are available?
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudo!
Click the Good Story! button above to leave the author a kudo:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks.