A couple of weeks ago Julie and I went to a local pharmacy for our annual flu and COVID vaccinations. We are vaxxers. As such, we trust vaccines and believe in their ability to stave off the worst of the seasonal maladies lying ahead.

Unlike the privacy of a clinic or doctor’s office, drug store vaccinations are given in semi-privacy. In our case, we sat behind a small screen while a pleasant young lady administered the shots.

A young mother and her three pre-adolescent daughters were waiting for their vaccinations. The youngest girl, age seven we learned, was sitting in a position where she could see us getting our shots. Her apprehension was visible.

Hoping to lighten things up, I assured her I wouldn’t cry when I got my shot. The image of an overgrown old man holding back tears amused her. She smiled and seemed to relax.

True to my word, I didn’t cry when the injections were made but there was a day when getting a shot brought me to the verge of tears.

My mother told me I had my traditional infant vaccines back in the first half of the previous century. I don’t remember them but I do remember my pre-kindergarten shot. I have no idea what we were vaccinated for, but there were 20-some of us little baby boomers lined up in the Ellsworth (Iowa) High School lunch room 70 years ago awaiting the needle.

That was a long time ago and I didn’t bawl but I certainly was not happy to be in this line. The doctor doing the inoculations that day was our family physician, Dr. Heise. As he stabbed my upper arm I jerked.

Dr. Heise immediately spoke to me in an unpleasant manner, chiding me for flinching. He ordered me to stand very still and slowly pulled the now bent needle from my arm.

I can’t remember his exact words, but in essence the doctor told me that if that needle had broken off in my arm I would be in a heap of medical trouble. My mother reinforced the doctor’s admonition.

When you’re a stupid kid scoldings are routine. I assume the doctor had to shoot me again. All I remember is that I have sat very still for every injection I have experienced over the next 70 years.

Still, I had a phobia about needles. Back when Cindy and I were married in 1969 a blood test was required to get a marriage license. I dreaded the procedure but had to stay strong so as not to embarrass myself in front of my fiancée.

At my age, injections and blood tests are so normal I can watch the procedure without qualms.

Today’s vaccinations have become much more comfortable. As I understand it, until the 1950s hypodermic needles were reused, losing their sharpness with each injection. After four or five uses, the needles were resharpened. When I was 10 I stepped on a nail and needed a tetanus shot. I swear the doctor used a dull 16-penny nail; it hurt like the dickens.

The needles used for inoculations today are single-use-sharp and so tiny a shot feels like nothing more than a skin prick.

I remember a flu shot about 25 years ago when a veteran nurse at the clinic in our community administered most of the flu shots. She was a delightful soul and chatted all the while she prepared the vaccination. I enjoyed the conversation and was surprised when she applied the adhesive bandage. “Have you already done the shot?” I asked. She had.

It looks like some vaccinations may be becoming more painless. A decade ago an American chemical engineer created a prototype “microneedle” that is compared to a nicotine patch. It is made of 400 silicon microscopic needles that can deliver medication through the skin without causing pain.

Imagine picking up a vaccine-medicated patch that you can apply to your skin at home. No pain or discomfort. No standing in line or waiting at your local pharmacy. No little girl watching with anxiety.

I am old enough to remember the fear and consequences of polio, small pox, mumps, whooping cough, and measles and I’m grateful for the medical advances that have been made. When my doctor recommends a vaccination, I get the vaccination.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2023 by Huisman Communications.