The Great Flu Scare of Aught-Nine

As I joined the 769 people in front of me on the track encircling the arena at the Rec Centre, watching the Zamboni do slow circles while our even slower circle of the would-be-vaccinted, I thought: I'm going to tell her this story someday.

I'll talk about the Great Flu of 2009, that flu that created so much panic: panic about whether the disease would be a mass killer; panic about whether the vaccine produced with such haste would be sufficient, whether it would be safe; panic about whether we could ever come in out of the rainy lineups and get The Shot before we got The Flu.

Was there a big lineup? Yeah, there was.


But not as bad as other days, from what I hear. And there was--can you believe it?--a rolling coffee cart:


I wound my way around the arena for 90 minutes to score a numbered wristband: 770. That was at 3:00. The Info People told me I could leave and come back later. Maybe try around 4:30 or 5, they suggested.

I called Pynchon, and he arranged to leave work early, just after four, to pick up Munchkin from daycare and meet me at the Centre. He would just drop her off, because parking was nearly impossible. We live so close to the centre that we could easily call him to come get us afterward, and he could be there in 5 minutes. A three-year-old shouldn't have to walk home after a flu shot, I think.

Munchkin hopped out of the car and into my arms. "Yay! I looooooove flu shots!" she shouted. Her last needle was at her 18 mos checkup, so she obviously didn't remember needles.

With our blue band, we marched right through three different checkpoints--public health employee! cop! paramedic!--and then right into the lineup for the nurse. In front of us, the same two 50-something women with emphysema who were directly in front of me earlier in the day. Only they had just stayed in the same line, from 1:30 until 5. All around me I saw toddlers and babies and nursing moms that I had seen at 1:30. Poor buggers. Munchkin had a ball eating a little bag of treats and mugging for the crowd. I have to say, the whole scene wa very organized: everyone knew what to do, the line was controlled, directions were clear, people were helpful.

And then the fire alarm went off.

People actually started laughing. The siren wailed and buzzed, but after about 30 seconds, a public health nurse got on the portable PA system (!) and told us to just wait for a minute. Then a minute later? It turns out one of those desperate or bored kids had pulled the alarm. Well, that's one way to try to get out of getting your flu. Nice try, but the flow of people was hardly interrupted at all.

The nurse very calmly showed me how to restrain Munchkin and everyone was all smiles. Munchkin watched the needle enter her arm, passively. The inject was half-done before she started to cry, not from fear but from pain: "Owwww, Mom! That hurts," she wailed, surprised and dismayed.

And then it was done. I lavished her with praise, and thanked the nurse. I had doudou and I had a little piece of compensatory chocolate and I even had a does of cherry-flavored Tylenol for her. I picked up her immunization record in the sit-and-wait area. She announced she didn't want to leave.

But then we went to "Old MacDonald's Restaurant" and there were My Little Ponies in her Happy Meal: a reward for a trial survived:


So it's done. I am relieved. Pynchon's not immunized yet; I'm not immunized yet. That's fine. It was the three year old I was worried about. And now I know I have done what it is possible for me to do.