Tim Davey - A pain in the arm

The Saturday morning call from the doctor's surgery was one I could have done without.

I was eligible for a swine flu jab, apparently.

When would I like to come?

If I had been absolutely honest with both myself and the receptionist on the end of the telephone, I would have said: "Never!"

Not wanting to rock the boat, though, I responded with some trivial pleasantries and a date and time were fixed for a weekday afternoon.

I put the phone down (don't ask me where, we can never locate them again until someone else rings) and the cold reality of what I had agreed to sank in.

You see, I hate needles. Specifically, ones used for vaccinations. I don't mind my dentist jabbing and numbing my gums with a hypodermic syringe on the grounds you can see precious little of it.

But the "roll up your sleeve and bare your arm" jabs are something else.

Let's say I'm a little squeamish with it. Yet here I was, having, rather glibly, succumbed to the well-intentioned suggestion of the surgery.

So for most of this past week until my appointed hour at the surgery, I have been in a "Will I, won't I?" mood, checking out websites for details of possible side effects and enduring imaginary visions of someone doing a bit of needlepoint on my upper arm.

All too soon the day and time arrived and, for once, not even the appalling traffic heading out of town through Brislington could delay arrival to the extent a cancellation would have been justified.

I looked around the waiting room to see if anyone else was as edgy as me. No. I was the only wimpish person there.

The practice nurse (never a great job description I feel, as it suggests someone is using you for training purposes) was moving through her list.

It wasn't long before my name came up and, resigned to my fate, I trudged in, albeit slowly, behind her.

Moments later it was done. I didn't even have time to think about it.

Back at home, my wife, who, in truth, had been a bit huffy about my name coming up on the Lucky Swine Flu Jab Lotto, was none too sympathetic when I murmured something about possible side effects.

Did I have any, she enquired, from an adjoining room?

"Well, now you mention it, I'm having a bit of a pain in the arm," I replied.

There was obviously some misunderstanding at this point, doubtless caused by the intervening walls and half-closed doors.

For she responded again by saying, "I've always known you are, but have you got any side effects?"