Trial by Spew and Sputum

Vaccinations

In light of our modern pandemic-culture and discourse around vaccines, I thought it appropriate to share a relevant story of my own experience. I think back to this memory when I consider the anxiety I cultivated for the next decade, and all difficulties I have had with other vaccinations, blood tests or simply the word ‘needle’. This story describes a defining moment in my teenage years and was a generally awful experience. Don’t fret, it has a happy ending.

The scene

Put yourself in your first year of high school. Imagine yourself not being very confident, not feeling very attractive, not being very popular and struggling to be ‘smart’ enough for whatever bile your teachers had you learning.

You’re in a public school, so it has all the things you could expect; cliques of all kinds, holier-than-thou teachers who made you beg to go to the bathroom, and every day you waited for the heavenly sound of the bell telling you to leave the grounds and live to fight another day. On top of this, even though it’s a public school, it’s an Australian public school, so you also have not one but two uniforms (days and classes dictating which gets worn) that you have to wear absolutely accurately. One strip of colour on your shoes or a slightly outrageous bow in your hair and you’ve got detention my guy. So there on any given day in your early years of high school, you’re surrounded by strangers who don’t seem very nice, teachers that you aren’t sure should have become teachers, and some uncomfortable white button-up shirt and cheap black cargo pants that feels worse the hotter it gets*

*note Brisbane, Australia, where ‘Winter’ is native for ‘extra summer’+.

+Australians love bargains

In this world of heat, hatred and horrible fashion, young Aussies receive their vaccinations. Every couple of years you’d get shuffled off en masse to one of the larger classrooms or the sports hall to get jabbed in the arm for one illness or another. This story zones in on one such occasion near the beginning of eighth grade, my first year in high school. The disease in question we were being vaccinated for I couldn’t remember to save my life, but that’s not the memorable part; being covered in my own bile-soup in front of a live studio audience is.

Its important to note that this time, that during the event students first lined up outside of a fully window-lined classroom, shuffled forward to get a brief interview with a nurse, then went behind a curtain for their shot. Once done, students would then be filed through to the classroom itself, to take a seat in one of the many chairs placed to monitor students for adverse reactions. The entire classroom had chairs lining the perimeter, with a single ‘hot seat’ right in the centre of the room, in full view from all those who had been vaccinated, and those waiting their turn. I soon learnt the hard way that this was the ‘you are feeling sick, sit here so you don’t vomit on anyone else’ chair.

The crisis

So here’s how it went down for me. I get to the front of the line and sit with the nurse. She asks me, ‘Did you take any medication this morning?’ ‘No’ I replied – mistake number 1. What I should have said was, ‘no, unless you count the paracetamol I took for my headache this morning, and the anti-depressants I’ve been taking literally every morning for the last 2 years’.

She then asked, ‘Do you feel unwell, nauseous or anxious? ‘No’ I said – mistake number 2. What my ‘no’ was supposed to mean was ‘I’m a man and I ain’t afraid of no massive needle going in my big strong arm’s’. What would have been more appropriate would have been ‘yes, I’m very nervous, I’m scared of needles’.

Too awkward to correct myself seconds after answering, I let the nurse go ahead with the jab, and convinced myself that the immediate queasiness was just me tensing up and that I should take a breath and get over it.

It was at this point, being led to my own chair in the circle of sore arms, that I spoke up and said I didn’t feel well. The teacher I mentioned this to seemed to think that I would feel better if they took me from my seat, to the chair in the centre of the affair in everyone’s eye shot. You would think that speaking up at this point would be the right thing to do, but unfortunately things had been set in motion and there was no going back. I should also mention that from my new vantage point, I could see the line of worried faces outside waiting their turn – including my crush waiting perpendicular to me – and the ceiling above me turning around its ceiling fans. Just as expected, the feeling of awful kept rising and rising until I couldn’t contain it any longer; I erupted all over myself in a fountain of gross.

Dozens of squeals, jeers and outcries sounded out from every direction, as students fought their own urges to puke in response, laugh at my troubles or just simply whinge louder. Worse still, I managed to raise my head long enough to see my crush looking on in horror at the scene I had caused from her spot in line.

Bummer. At least it couldn't get any worse.

The (mis)handling

Understandably I was pretty weak at this point, so I was left to the tender mercies of the teachers on call, who graciously sauntered in to swoop me up as slowly as humanly possible. I was at the whims of my teachers and couldn’t object to anything if I tried; they could have beat me within an inch of my life and I would have had to lay there and take it.

The first thing done was to help me up and take me outside, where the line was, as if to parade me in front of the upcoming stab-ees and say, ‘you’re next’. Sitting against the wall, clothes soaking with stomach juices, and before being taken to the nurses’ office, I was asked a terribly foreboding question; was I wearing an undershirt? I shook my head weakly. I assumed they asked to see if they could take my shirt off without me being embarrassed; turns out I was kind of right when they pulled my shirt off anyway in front of everyone in my grade. I was mortified, and rightly so. Who wouldn’t be? Imagine yourself sitting half covered in vomit and the other half showcasing your chubby translucent body to every one of your 13-year-old peers, your pale skin shining bright enough in the sun to power a small city.

Next question, worse than the first; ‘are you wearing boxers under your pants?’ Again, I shook my head, silently begging any possible god that they would stop there. It seemed that the same teacher wanted to keep going and strip me down in front of everyone like a filthy perv. Thankfully, a more level headed colleague of theirs seemed to think walking around the school in vomit shorts is better than walking around in your underwear, and suggested shuffling me the whopping 20 metres to the office, where I could wait in the nurses station for my mother to arrive. Propped up by my shoulders with my little man-titties swaying in the breeze, I retreated from the scene, hearing the jeers from my peers to send me off.

The aftermath and the takeaway

Thus, the tone was set for my next five years of schooling. I was too mortified to show my face at school after this. I started taking back paths to get to my classes, travelling behind and around buildings instead of taking the main walkway. I learnt to walk and talk softly, keeping my head low and my mouth shut. The less attention I drew, the less I had to be reminded by people that I was gross and fat, and I could ostracise myself from my fellows rather than let them do it for me.

This meant a lot of high school was pretty sombre for me, but at the very least it pushed me to be more introspective and become better at learning and processing from difficult situations. As embarrassing as this moment was, I could rationalise that the whole situation could have been avoided if I had handled it better and that it would be too easy to just blame the vaccination.

I was raised in an environment that from a young age helped me to understand that even though needles could be scary and painful, there was a reason behind it and that I would be better off in the long run. Correlation of course not equating to causation, I’ve yet to be struck by a major disease or been held in hospital for even a day at a time for any reason. And I haven’t been smacked with the autism stick either, so we can wash that ghost story away with the puke.

More importantly, it made me feel like the worst that could have happened, happened and it didn’t kill me. I’ve been able to reflect on that moment when faced with other scary moments, like public speaking in front of large audiences, without any cringe or pain or fear. If anything, it helped me be more fearless, and have more perspective when it comes to shitty happenings.

Hell, even the crush thing turned out just fine; she moved away a little while after this, but we got in touch again in senior year. We’ve been together ever since, we’re engaged, and if we ever find a scrap of spare cash then we’ll finally have a day she deserves, and I’ll then be able to call her my wife.

I know vaccinations are scary, but they’re worthwhile and good for you in the long run. Worst case scenario? You trade your high school years for a lifetime of perspective and a funny story to share with friends and strangers on the internet.

Get vaccinated.

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Thanks for reading a newbie story from a newbie writer. This was my first time writing directly from personal experience rather than fiction. Your eyes and attention are huge support and your opinion as a reader is priceless. If you have any notes on how you would have done it in my shoes, my Instagram is on my profile, and my inbox is ready.