fucking shots

So I went to the doctor today. I had to get a physical examination to make sure that everything was looking good before I went to Chile for the summer. Now I'm thinking I'll get there, sign in, wait a little while, then go in the back and get my weight, height, eyesight level, all that good stuff. But was that what happened? No, no it wasn't.
Everything was going...pretty well at first. I walk through the door of the office and am immediately hit by that ever present diaper smell in every pediatrics center. (Which is another thing, how old to I have to be before I can stop seeing the children's doctor?!) I look around and am relieved to see that there are no crying babies or screaming children already present in the waiting area. Ahead of me, I am greeted by a cheerful receptionist who is sitting behind a desk cluttered with toys and animal stickers. I walk up to her and sign in, getting a "these better not be suing papers" look when I hand her my extra foreign exchange forms. Just a few minutes later I am led back into the treatment area, a stark contrast to the happy waiting room painted up with pictures of castles and dragons and decorated with toys and even a play station 2. The first thing that crosses my mind when I walk through that dreaded door, "they must put the only non-Prozac using nurse up front." What's more, the area is completely covered in white, without a splash of color to be seen anywhere. Hallways lined with doors stretch out as far as I can see, creating a sort of dizzying effect as if I was suddenly dropped into one of those freaky visual illusions with the endlessly stacked boxes. There is no time to become adjusted however, I am quickly (and reluctantly) handed off to a different, not quite so cheery nurse who begins the normal measurements listed above. After this I'm put into a room. It's that kind with the bed in the corner that has the flimsy paper on top that no matter how hard u try u end up ripping it to shreds with ur ass cheeks before u leave. I swear, no matter what kind of doctor the room belongs to (pediatricians, neurologists, cardiologists), they all look the same. Well except that they usually have a poster with their specialty's worst possible scenarios on it that kind of makes u think, "wow, im actually pretty lucky, look how fucked up I COULD be." That's when the doctor walks in. Was it my usual, smiling, stereotypically hispanic pediatrician, Dr. Ramirez? No. Instead it was some tall, cynical blondie who spent most of our time telling me what I better not do when I left that place, like I was getting out of prison instead of a children's hospital. So after a lot of poking and prodding we moved on to my vaccine record. Apparently my bodily defense is not as up to par as I thought it was. Apparently I need a tetanus shot, and oh look I'm behind on my hepatitis A vaccine, and well since I'm going out of the country I might as well get a test for tuberculosis. Tuberculosis?! The list just gets longer and longer. Now the doctor's finally gotten out of my room. I sit in there, not quite sure if I'm getting my shots today or if I'm supposed to leave now. After about 8 minutes or so I get my answer. A nurse comes in carrying a tray piled high with needles. Usually, I'm pretty good with needles, but this was no ordinary shot, it wasn't even an ordinary couple of shots, needless to say, I was scared. Before I know it my frikkn' flight instinct has even kicked in and I'm looking anxiously for ways to get out of there before my arms become swiss cheese. The nurse is walking over to me now, armed and dangerous. She sets the tray down beside me and begins rubbing my arms up and down with alcohol. The smell burns my nose and makes me feel sick. Flick, flick. "Take a deep breath," she says, and boom the first one's in. It literally feels like someone has shoved a rock into my muscle, I know some shots hurt worse than others but this one was a bitch. Without time for even a second breath, I see the nurse getting ready to puncture me again, a little higher than the first wound. "Wait a sec.." I stammer, but the needle is already in and within seconds I feel a second rush of alien fluid stretching the walls of my unsuspecting flesh. But wait, it's not over, now we're going to shove some goo under ur skin she says. She already has the needle in hand. "Are u going to take it back out when you're done?" I ask quickly. "Oh no" she responds, "it will go away on its own in a while." Good thing because I'm already getting the first skin implant of my life. Apparently this goo stuff is not as fluid as the other vaccines. As I sit there writhing in pain I imagine the stuff having the texture of something like peanut butter. Whatever it is, it's not going in without a fight. Let's just say, slowest, and probably one of the most painful shots of my life. When it's finally over I look down and there's a frikkn' white hump about half a centimeter high protruding out of my inner forearm. "Don't put pressure on it" she says. Why? Because another ounce of pressure against my struggling epidermal wall is likely to form a crater? I wouldn't have been surprised. So finally I'm allowed to get out of that stinking place, that is if I can work the door knobs with my two aching and already heavily numbed pair of appendages. It takes me a few minutes just to figure out how to carry all my school stuff without putting at least one of my arms in extreme pain. When I get to my car I try to figure out how to get my keys out of my backpack without putting too much weight on either arm muscle, and without putting pressure on my tuberculosis tattoo, but eventually I just give up and drop everything, settling to put stuff in one by one. FINALLY, I have everything in my car and I'm sitting in the driver's seat when I look down at my arms, both completely numb at this point, and realize "fuck, how am I going to drive?"