Let me take you on a journey through the passages of time, accessing the past: so basically three days ago. This is a tale of love, pain, deception and some really snazzy glasses.
It all started when my glasses broke. I had, had them for around 7 years (not the prescription, the frames-hello deteriorating eyesight.) My first pair of glasses in Grade 9 made me look like Harry Potter, except instead of magical powers I had metallic braces on my teeth and a tendency to openly stalk my crushes (ah 2009.) Flash forward 2 years and some embarrassing messages to the supposed love(s) of my life later (sorry boys), I had straight teeth and the opportunity to choose new frames. I obviously went with librarian chic as every Grade 11 in the prime of her life would.
Eventually I discovered the magic of contact lenses and figured I’d much rather stick a finger in my eye everyday than wear my glasses out. So let me tell you when my glasses broke-they broke! Okay I’m being overdramatic the little plastic thing that sits on your nose tore and the frames are wobbly, but you get the idea.
I booked an appointment with my optometrist and told my momma about it so she could help me choose frames. The reason for this is two-fold. Number 1: my family doesn’t pity the weak members of the herd-if you mess up you will be mocked relentlessly-I’m still trying to live down the name Mozzarella my cousin gifted me for my pale skin resembling the palest of all cheeses, besides feta, (I’m not a vampire okay!) I needed my mom, the matriarch of our unit to help me choose glasses that wouldn’t get me my annual mocking from the family when they visited. My glasses had to be cool-but not too cool. They had to be unique, but not weird. Most importantly I had to see through them-to be driving-competent on the roads (but point 1 and 2 were more important.) The second reason for asking my mommy to come is because while I turn 24 in 3 days-I lack important adult qualities such as decisiveness, rationality, and braveness, so there!
At this point you’re probably thinking: damn it Courtney, why are you sharing your optometrist appointment with me? I was promised nurse love? Was this click bait? And to that I say: patience dear one, I’m getting to that part! Why are you yelling at me??
So I choose a cool pair of glasses that make me feel like a writer in the 90s who was fashionably ahead of her time (it’s a thing okay?) We pay, I feel safe and happy. Then my mom turns to me and says: “I brought your script, let’s get round 2 of your HPV inoculation”
Sidebar: the HPV inoculation is a series of 3 injections that prevent you from getting cervical cancer, throat cancer and HPV. It’s advised that you get them before you’re sexually active (oops) and before you’re 43. There is an injection series for women (hi there) and a different series for men. The male injection stops prostate cancer, throat cancer and HPV. Dudes please get the injection! Y’all don’t experience the symptoms of HPV but like the rats on those Spanish ships back in the day (the ones who spread the bubonic plague?) you’re damn great at passing it around. What’s the point in me getting injected if you give it to me anyway?
Now please don’t commend me on getting these inoculations (although I will accept hi5’s because I like attention) this is my second time getting them. Why you ask? Because of my fear of needles and blood, I botched the last round and completed 2/3 injections. I not only had to restart them from scratch, I also disappointed my gynaecologist, which if you know me is a terrible thing indeed due to my intense fear of her.
So there I was nowhere to run, tricked into an injection. I then, rationally, explained to my optometrist, the receptionist, the nurse and my mother how I had been betrayed and deceived on a large scale, something unforgiveable-especially on my birthweek. The optometrist wished me luck. My mom ignored me. The nurse went to get the injection…
Now these injections hurt! You feel the liquid going in and then 2-3 days afterwards you feel like you’ve been sucker-punched in the arm. If my memory served me right, the second one always hurt the most. Tears threatened to break free (please again refer to my lack of adultness) I sat on the hospital bed clutching my mother’s hand. The nurse was chatting to me, I felt a pinch-waited for the pain and…nothing. No burning, no ache…nothing. “There, you go” she said, throwing away the injection, “all done.”
Again connecting with my rationality, I lunged across the gap between us and threw my arms around her in a very unprofessional and mildly inappropriate hug. I kept thanking her over and over again, I turned to her, looked her in the eyes and asked her to marry me for giving me a pain free injection. She laughed nervously, untangled herself from my giant hug and said “see you in 6 months for your final injection” and then left. I’d like to think I surprised her and that she’ll agree to my proposal next time I see her. My mom, being used to my strangeness now refers to the nurse as my wife. I will see her in 6 months for my final injection-and then I’ll tell you how it goes?
I think the biggest lesson I’ve learnt from this experience isn’t to be less dramatic or suck it up, it’s that if a medical professional makes my experience pain free then I will want to marry them undoubtedly! I wonder if it’s a medical thing only or if it’ll also work for other heroes like lawyers and policemen or those women that turn your eyebrows from 1 into 2? Only time will tell I guess.
I hope you enjoyed my tale-if you didn’t, pretend you did. It’s still my birthweek.