Just Don't Look At The Needle And Hold Your Breath

I had a flu shot yesterday. My dad and my mom brought me and my baby brother to the clinic. My brother had a flu shot too. There were other kids in the clinic. Their faces, worried, scared; clinging tightly onto their parents. I was clinging tightly too, onto my dad. The cries inside doctor's room, it was bothersome. I could see it bothered the other kids too.

The kids ahead of me, all gave a fit of resistance as they were brought inside the room. Seeing them, I felt sick in my stomach. My brother was sound asleep, not bothered by the shot that he was going to have. Just five month old, so young and unaware. Me, I had to get it at age five.

My dad looked at me and asked, “Are you scared?” I nodded.

“It's really not that painful,” he tried to cast away my fear, “... just like a bite of an ant.” I looked at him and not said a word.

“Just don't look at the needle, okay,” he added. Reluctantly, I nodded.

“You'll do just fine,” he tried to assure.

My turn to get the shot came. I held my dad's hand tightly as we entered the doctor's room. I did not cry going in, like the other kids before me. My mom was inside the room, waiting for us. She was carrying my brother who was still asleep. He just had the shot.

I was told to sit on the patients' bed. My dad was standing next to me. I held his right arm closely.
“Don't look at the needle, honey,” he reminded me. I fixed my eyes on him.

“Now ... hold your breath,” he said. I held my breath. I felt the needle slide in my upper right arm. I felt the pain but I couldn't complain, I was holding my breath.

“Oh, honey,” the doctor said, “you're so brave. What's your name?”

“Katrina” I responded. I was a bit embarrassed. Deep inside, I was scared stiff.
“We have a brave one here!,” the doctor announced to her assisting nurses, “She's such a winner!”

The kids stared at me when I came out of the room. They were looking amazed that I was not crying.
“Look!” one of the mothers said to her son, “She's not crying! You see, it's really not that painful.”

“Just don't look at the needle and hold your breath,” I proudly sounded. What the doctor said about the 'winner' thing, it made my ego go a little tripping. I wished we stayed at the clinic a little longer, I wanted to see if the other kids became braver.

***

I played the part of 'Juliet' in Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, yesterday. When my drama teacher gave the part, I was so happy. When I got home, I announced it to everyone. My mom and my dad were so proud of my getting the lead role, they even bragged it to their friends.

For two months, we prepared for the play. It was so much harder than I had imagined. Those old English phrases, those iambic pentameters, they were all giving me headaches. As the presentation drew near, I became worried. A voice was nagging inside my head, saying, “You'll forget a word, you'll mess up a line.”

Earlier yesterday, my relatives and some family friends gathered to our house. Everyone were excited to see me on the stage. Then we went to the school theater on a convoy of cars.

As we walked from the parking lot to the theater, my dad put his arm around me and said, “You've been noticeably quiet since this morning. Are you nervous?” I nodded. He held me tight.

“You'll do just fine,” he assured me, “Just don't look at the needle and hold your breath.” Somehow, I got what he wanted to say. That I just had to brave the stage play, and I would come out okay.

So, I took to the stage with renewed confidence. I did not mess up a line, I did not forget a word. The audience were so kind, so generous with their rounds of applause.

***

We laid my brother to rest yesterday. He died at an early age of twelve. I was told, he had a problem with his blood. We have done everything for him to get well, but, I guess, it was not meant for him to live longer.

My dad was the most devastated. He and my brother liked going out together: to the lake to fish, and to every local sports events. From the time my brother got sick, my father has been noticeably quiet.

This morning, I found him at our porch. He was sitting on a bench and staring far up the road. I sat next to him. He turned his head halfway towards me and forced a smile. Then he stared far up the road again.

“Are you looking at the needle, Dad?” I asked. He looked down and began to sob. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly. After a while, he took a deep breath and kissed my head. “I'll do just fine,” he said. I know he'll do just fine, he's my dad.

10/13/09