It’s time to get the flu shot and feel superior
An ounce of prevention is worth more than a pound of cure — or in Canadian terms, a gram of prevention is worth a … uh … litre of cure? Whatever, you get the meaning.
I am naturally prevention inclined. For instance, I always wipe up spills before someone slips. Even though watching someone slip and fall down is basically nature’s comedy channel.
Thus when I heard through the hypochondriac grapevine that this year’s flu is supposed to be a bad one, I made sure to do my research. I confirmed the rumour with a pharmacist while we were having our weekly chat about horrible things.
“I heard this year’s flu is pretty rough.”
“Yup, had some deaths in Australia and the United States.”
This information made my blood pressure rise (which I promptly checked at the blood pressure machine next to me). Of course people die of the flu ever year, but this felt like an especially serious warning.
So I went to one of the free vaccine locations and got the flu shot. I was inoculated last year and did not get the flu. I didn’t have the vaccine the year before, and I caught the mother of all flus. By the end I suspected that I had tuberculosis and even asked my doctor, who assured me that I did not have it. I insisted, “Are you sure? Cuz I spit up blood today. Like Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge, just before the end.”
My doctor assured me
I’d be OK by the end of the week. I was, which was good. I didn’t want to die like a heroine in a Baz Luhrmann movie.
I also got the shot so I could brag to my coworkers: “Guess who’s protected against the flu this year? Unless, of course, a different strain is introduced into our local area.”
However, no one gave me the “atta-girl” I was expecting. My fellow employees had nothing but bad ideas.
“Now that you’ve had the shot, you are a carrier. Basically, you have the flu — you are spreading the flu merely by existing,” they said, backing away from me. “That’s not how it works.” “It’s in you, therefore you can spread it.”
I explained that wasn’t how the science worked, that the flu shot was such a small amount that it could not be spread — like getting half a fry instead of a whole plate of fries. Nobody is gonna share half a fry, right? That’s crazy.
After the flu shot, the pharmacist told me to expect “a bit of a reaction.” My arm hurt after the shot, but it always does. It’s a small sacrifice to know that I will be safe from the flu and more importantly that I can lord my good health over everyone else.
I imagined all of my coworkers coughing and sneezing while I swanned by with my perfect immunity.
But it became difficult to swan around once the coughing set in.
“It’s not the flu,” I assured my coworkers. “I got the shot.”
“You have the flu,” they told me.
“I have a cold, far different from the flu. Like this is just a tiny cough, sniffles, sore throat and some body soreness — but not the flu.”
They disagreed. “That really sounds like the flu.”
“Science says otherwise.” And I was correct. After that first crappy weekend, my health has been smooth sailing, other than the persistent tiredness that is part of being a parent to a young child with the stubbornness of a union negotiator.
All shots make sense. It’s how we got rid of polio, measles and goose-leg disease. They ravaged the world for thousands of years, and then boom: Science.
Except for the odd Disneyland outbreak, they’re basically eradicated from our continent.
Actually, that third disease is made up — but really, how would you know?
All shots make sense. It’s how we got rid of polio, measles and goose-leg disease. They ravaged the world for thousands of years, and then boom: Science.