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By:  Stick Miller

Boyce “Stick” Miller lives in Americus. Contact him at stickmiller @gmail.com

While Inauguration Day has been at the forefront of the news lately, I have been much more concerned about another, lost in the shuffle, day that has had me on edge:  Inoculation day.

That’s right, funseekers, I am terrified of needles.

I don’t know where that fear came from except that my pediatrician, Dr. Boswell, didn’t consider a medical visit to be complete without administering some sort of injection. Sometimes I think he did it to show that he was in control. It also might have been that my mother insisted on house calls. She thought doctors’ offices were a cesspool of illness.

At any rate, I’ve hidden from the doctor so many times and in so many places, I might just be the champion of hiders. Did I mention that I hate needles and shots?

Just about the time that old black Chevrolet pulled up in front of the house I vanished.  My favorite spot was an old trunk that sat on the landing of our house. It wasn’t decorative, it was just there.

I would hide my ever-enlarging body in there and, of course, would be caught every time. I wound up surrendering to the needle and took my medicine. I just hated it.

Later in life, I discovered I could get the same effect by having the shot in my gluteus maximus, or as it was in my case, my gluteus minimus. For as much weight as I’ve gained since I got my nickname “Stick”, the padding continues to migrate from the rear to the front.

For the past eight or ten years, I’ve been comfortable taking it “in the rear” so to speak. You may not know this, but there is a region on the maximus that has almost no nerve endings and even in my skinny state, I can hardly feel anything.

It came time to get my shingle vaccine, and I wasn’t happy. I begged my doctor to give me the shot, but apparently the drug companies, or the AMA or the CIA decided that drugstores ought to be dispensing the shingle shot. Not happy.

Now I don’t mind telling you that I do my drug shopping at what I believe just might be the best drugstore on the planet. I’m not revealing any names, but their initials are Clinic Drugs.

I went in to pick up a prescription and left with my first shingle shot accomplished. I decided I would ask about getting the shot in my rump and with a lot of coaxing that’s where I got it. I felt nothing. I asked them to put a Band-Aid on the “spot” just in case the COVID people would cooperate.

I went to Albany for my shot for a couple of reasons:  I got my appointment sooner that I could have in Americus. I just didn’t want to think about it too much. The quicker, the better.

I also wanted to be away from home and friends and anyone that would recognize me if I fell out of the chair when the needle was plunged.

At the appointed time, I showed up and got in line. Several people asked me if I was OK. My reply was, “hell no I’m not OK…. I’m getting ready to meet my maker!”  They all ignored me.

I found a satisfactorily weak and puny looking nurse and sat. Unfortunately, she spoke broken English and was no help in soothing my angst. Before making a break for it, I glanced around the room.

I spotted a jolly-looking larger than life nurse who was just what the doctor ordered.  She came over, put her ample arms around me and held me in a crushing hug that made escape impossible. Before I knew it, the shot was over, and I felt a little sheepish at just how bad I had worked it up to be.

I made my way to the “recovery room” and recovered. I was offered a bottle of water and remarked that I’d like a couple of fingers of Jack Daniels with it. They were not amused.

Anyway, part one of this story is told.  I’ll let you know if I have any unusual hair growth or develop scales. For now, I have 2 weeks to work myself up into a frenzy again.

I wish I was different, but that just ain’t happening.

Boyce “Stick” Miller lives in Americus. Contact him at stickmiller @gmail.com