| Subject: Re: Pic at top of this page - finish the story |
Author:
rutabaga
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Date Posted: Wednesday, July 08, 2015, 09:06: pm
In reply to:
Bob
's message, "Re: Pic at top of this page - finish the story" on Monday, June 08, 2015, 11:11: am
I am old enough to remember metal syringes and glass barrels on hypodermic injections. The picture looks so much like what I remember getting at my doctor's office that I thought it was an illustration from the 1960s. The girl looks like we all did back then. That is no veterinary syringe! The needle looks like the old reusable needles that went through the sterilizer and were used over many times, often until quite dull, in one little bottom after another. The medications were not so concentrated then and larger volumes were the rule. Her panties, plain white, were lowered well below the bottom to make sure everything was exposed. The alcohol on the cotton ball felt cold on your skin and was rubbed over the area none too gently. Then the skin would be stretched and the needle punched deep into the hip. The stabbing pain of 18 gauge needles caused little bottoms to tighten in spite of nurse's orders to "relax your hip". And the thick,cold penicillin was forced in as fast as possible so it would not clog the needle. Each second the stabbing sensation grew and then the feeling of your bottom blowing up as the medication was forced into the tight muscle. In those days the visit always ended the same, with a large injection of penicillin delivered with firmness by the same stern nurse who yanked down your pants and underwear to place the thermometer in your but before the doctor came in the room. The removal of the thermometer and its return to the alcohol filled jar on the counter heralded the doctor's arrival, followed by a quick squeeze of the throat and the pronouncement "she has swollen glands" as he left the room, passing the nurse to bark out"4cc of penicillin G". And then the wait, hoping the nurse wouldn't return with the metal tray covered by a white cloth. And sometimes if the wait was long you heard other doors close followed by the sharp cry of the child down the hall or in the next room. And everyone cried, at least until they reached their midteens although the boys desperately tried to "take it my little man", limping down the hall with their mothers, tears streaming down their faces, embarrassed when the receptionist said, "Oh did you get a shot? Pick out a sucker to make it all better. And those were the only suckers I ever remember in my house unfortunately.
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