Flu Shot

Abstract

Hold it like a dart.Prepare her arm,squeeze the skin,then use your wrist.She’ll feel nothingbut that gentle twist of flesh. She looks away.“Shall I tell you when?” I say,smiling as I drop the used syringein the sharp-safe bin.I live for that lookof disbelief. I do not speak to herof the debacle of ‘76.Swine flu panic in the air,hundreds of thousands clamoringfor the needle of protection.In the aftermath,two hundred with Guillain-Barre,thirty dead.It was worth it, the experts said,We saved millions from the flu. Not worth it for Jonathan,who lived the ten worst days of his lifeon life support in ICU,nerve fibers eaten away,ravaged by that malady.He couldn’t talk for a week.It took him a month to walk,a twenty-five year oldwith an old man’s limp. He never got the shot again,didn’t need to read the headlines. No black plague descended in ‘76,no swine flu,even in thosewho chose not to get stuck. Yet I still immunize,proselytize for it.I examine Jonathan,watch sadly as he limps across the roomand try to remember:millions have been savedin other years.