A few weeks ago I revealed the embarrassing details of my recent memory loss, which included things like forgetting where I parked my car, telling friends the same stories over and over and forgetting to tell people semi-important stuff.
Then there was the time I tried to go to the doctor two days in a row and forgetting that I’d given someone a gift, then wondering where I put that gift.
While playing Trivia Pursuit with a couple of friends, and of course losing miserably, I mentioned my memory problems, perhaps a lame excuse for stinking at the game.
One of my friends, a registered nurse, urged me to tell my doctor, that I could have something wrong that is easily fixed.
So I did, and it turned out my B12 was low, which not only causes memory loss but also fatigue. There’s no shortage of fatigue on my part, either. I was happy to learn I could take shots for my vitamin shortage and fix the problem.
Another friend’s mother had taken the shots until her doctor put her on a nasal spray for B12, so she gave me her leftover syringes. The needles were huge. Plus, everyone I know who was familiar with the injections said they were painful.
I was a little worried but knew it would be worth it to get back what’s left of my mind and maybe feel a little more peppy.
I took my first shot at the doctor’s office and it didn’t hurt at all, except for the charge. But I learned if I have a friend who could administer the shot, I could have a prescription filled and let my friend do it, saving what amounted to nearly 400 percent.
I shared this information, or rather forced it on, my co-workers when one of my clerks said she routinely gave her mother-in-law B12 shots and that she would be willing to give them to me, too.
So I got my needles, which weren’t as large as my friend’s mom’s needles or as large as my clerk’s mother-in-law’s needles.
“She says they hurt when I give them to her in the arm,” my clerk said. “She has me give them to her in the rear end. She said it doesn’t hurt as bad.”
“Well,” I said. “If it hurts in my arm, I’ll have you give them to me in the rear end, too.”
My clerk got a kind of queasy look on her face, as if the last thing she would like to do is give me a shot in the hinie. Certainly, if it came to that, she would deserve a raise. Unfortunately, I’m not in the position to give anyone a raise.
I wasn’t really worried that it would hurt. I’d already had my first shot and it didn’t hurt. Of course, that happened in the doctor’s office. My clerk is, well, a clerk. She’s not a doctor or a nurse, so, I thought, maybe a shot from her will hurt.
Still, I was thinking about all the money I’d save if I had her do it. If she’s willing, I thought, I’m going to give it a try.
The day I was due for my shot, it was her first duty of the day. I wanted to get it over with.
We went into my office and shut the door. She read over the directions and looked at the needles, commenting on how they looked smaller than the ones she usually uses. She began filling a syringe while I exposed my upper arm. It was supposed to be given in the muscle and I wasn’t sure I had any muscle in my arm; it sure didn’t seem like I did considering how hard it is for me to lift 25-pound bags of dog food out of my car. But she seemed to think she could find a place at the top of my arm.
She wiped my arm and I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to see the needle go it. I waited for the stick, but it didn’t come right away.
“I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you,” she said sweetly.
Ah, she’s sensitive to my pain, I thought. Or she’s really worried about having to give me the injection in the other end.
“Just go for it,” I said. “I’m sure it won’t hurt.”
So she did, and her shot hurt even less than the one from the doctor’s office.
What a relieve it was, for both of us. Now I’m a few more steps down the road to recovery and she’s sure she’ll never have to see my bare behind.
LEE WARD can be reached at lward@dailyindependent.com or (606) 326-2661.
