One of the things I hate most in the world is shots.

Guess what I have to do in order to go Kenya?


Needles make me want to crawl into a hole and live out the rest of my existence as a petulant hermit, but two weeks ago I  put on my big girl drawers and got two shots.

Thankfully, I had an amazing nurse who was so good at what she did that I didn’t even feel the needle in my arm. Either she was really good or she used a really powerful local anesthesia. Whatever. She talked to me the entire time and told me that even though she has to give people shots everyday, she hates getting shots herself. When she has to get one she always brings a family member to hold her hand. I told her that the last time I got a yellow fever shot I almost cried. That was when she stopped and asked, “You’ve gotten this shot before?”

“Yeah about four years ago.”

“Yellow fever shots only need to be renewed every ten years.”


We stood there in an awkward silence for about ten seconds until she shrugged and said, “Well, I already gave it to you so there’s nothing we can do now.”

She then proceeded to shoot me up with typhoid.

I spent the rest of my day in a state of acute paranoia.