In you, Lord, I have taken refuge; let me never be put to shame. In your righteousness, rescue me and deliver me; turn your ear to me and save me. Psalm 71:1,2

The second-grade teacher stood up from her desk. “Class, it’s time to put your books away. You are getting your cholera vaccinations today, so please line up in alphabetical order at the classroom door.”

At Kent Academy, the boarding school for missionary kids in Nigeria, we were used to getting injections. We shuffled around to get in line alphabetically just like we’d done before, and I knew who should be ahead of me. I quickly found my place

We walked across the playground and waited single file outside the nurse’s office. I’m glad I’m not first in line, because I’m scared, I thought. But I’m glad I’m not the last either. I like being in the middle.

Just then I heard a cry from inside the nurse’s office. My shoulders tightened and I nervously poked the girl in front of me. “I hate getting shots,” I said.

She turned around and grinned, “Shots aren’t so bad! I’m tough.”

A couple of kids came out smiling, but then I heard another cry. I bit my lip. “I don’t want to get a shot today,” I said. “Sometimes the medicine burns as it goes in. If cholera is an ouch-y one, I don’t want it.”

“But then you’ll get sick with cholera.”

A little boy pushed his way out the screen door, sobbing and holding his hand over his upper arm.

I hugged my churning stomach. “I don’t care. Look how much these things hurt. How bad can the sickness be?”

Her eyes got wide. “Cholera is the worst! First you get diarrhea, and then you vomit diarrhea!”

I shuddered. “Oh, yuck. That’s so gross! I guess it’s better to get the shot.”

My Turn for Torture

By the time I got to the front of the line and the nurse called, “Debbie Jones,” my heart was pounding.

A brave boy behind me said, “Don’t worry. It will only take a minute, and then it’ll all be over.”

As I stepped into the brightly lit office I thought, I don’t know if I’ll survive the pain for a whole minute. I might blackout like my big brother Larry.

Larry was a year older, and he fainted every time he got a shot. Tears prickled at the back of my nose. I sure wish Mom was here so I could sit in her lap.

The nurse worked quickly, lifted me up on the table, wiped my left arm with a small, cool piece of cloth, and picked up the syringe. I want her to smile and tell me she’ll be as gentle as she can like the nurse did in America.

After squeezing the syringe into the air, she pressed the sharp tip into my skin. Tears sprang to my eyes as I felt first the pressure, then the puncture. “Ouch! Ouch!”

The nurse pulled the needle out and said, “There. All done.” Then she pressed a cotton ball on the sore spot to stop the bleeding. That hurt more. She lifted me off the table and my legs wobbled like jello, but I steadied myself and plodded toward the door.

Deeper Pain Revealed

As I walked out of the nurse’s office, tears streamed down my cheeks. I headed to the playground where a couple of classmates stood swinging their arms like windmills. One of the girls said, “Your arm will get stiff and hurt worse if you don’t move it around.”

I raised my arms and swung them around once, but my left one started to throb. I don’t think swinging will help.

The next morning when I woke, my upper arm felt like it had been stomped on by an elephant. I gingerly pulled my dress over my head and slowly raised my left arm to put it in my sleeve. I moaned. Every movement hurt. That pain is much worse than the poke.

Slowly and carefully, I dragged the sleeve over my shoulder, pulling inch by inch. Once I was dressed, the sleeve rubbed against my skin and it stung. I’m sure not going to swing my arm, and I really hope no one touches it.

In devotions that night, we sang a happy song and some kids clapped along, but others were in pain like me. I tried a gentle clap, but I cringed as pain shot up my arm. I need my mom here. She’s the only one who can make me feel better. I think my heart hurts the worst.

A Sweet Solution

The achy soreness lasted several days. They kept telling me to move my arm, but that hurt too much. It felt better when I kept it still.

“I don’t like having to get shots,” my friend said as we walked to school

“Me neither,” I said. “But there is one vaccination I like.”

“No way! I don’t like any shots!”

“I bet you do! What about the sugar cube vaccination for polio?” I laughed and smacked my lips. “I wish we could get all our shots with a sugar cube.”

A Cholera Story

Several years later in the dining room at Kent Academy, I watched little Robbie, who was in the same grade as my youngest brother, Grant, sitting at his table and complaining that his arm ached badly. Since the cholera shots had been given earlier that week, everyone else felt somewhat better. So, the other kids said to him, “It can’t really be hurting still. You’re faking it.” They told him to move his arm around to loosen it up.

But I could see that he was in real pain. Instead of his usual perky self, Robbie looked glum and listless. His eyes were slightly red and glistened with tears. I found his sister in the dining room and told her what was going on. Joy explained that Robbie had fallen off a bike that morning and broken his collar bone. She witnessed the accident and took him to the nurse right away who diagnosed the injury.

All of the kids at his dinner table had thought the pain was from the vaccination until Joy explained what happened. That tells me how strong the pain from the cholera shot was–much like the pain of a broken collar bone!

This week I reached out to my friend Joy and her brother Rob, as he is called now. Here’s the backstory in his own words.

“We were one of the first families back at KA. One of the KA staff kids had a bike at the school. I had learned to ride a bike while in Canada on furlough and decided to ride the kid’s bike down the ramp from the upper to lower playground.”

Rob added, “My wise older sister Joy told me not to, but I did it anyway and wiped out.”

Looking Back

As a child I learned to accept pain—the kind of pain that could just as well be as bad as a broken collar bone. I rationalized suffering along the lines of sacrifices endured to stay well and keep the community well. Back then, pain relievers weren’t available. And I lacked help dealing effectively with emotional pain.

In the days following our vaccinations, some kids purposely punched others in the tender spot. My stomach tightens as I think of the fear I felt when anticipating intentionally inflicted pain.

Was the advice about the cholera shot true? My good friend from Kent Academy, Susan Lochstampfor Smith, who is now a hospice nurse, says this: “For intramuscular injections, ‘working’ the muscle helps the medicine work into and through the tissue thereby alleviating some of the discomfort. I still tell my post-injection patients to do that.”

All of my vaccinations were recorded in a yellow booklet the size of my passport, provided by the World Health Organization. Since proof of immunization was required to travel, I kept it with my passport, and that certificate brought a sense of pride, proving I was a seasoned traveler.

The entries include cholera, gamma globulin, measles, mumps, polio, rubella, smallpox, tetanus, typhoid, yellow fever. Each one of those entries represents a time in my life when I had to face my fear, survived it, and maybe got better at it as I grew older.

What I Know Now

In this story, I’m not giving an argument for or against vaccines. I’m simply sharing my experiences and their impact on me.

Currently, in several regions of Nigeria, there are still cholera and yellow fever outbreaks as well as the risk of other diseases. Today, the list of vaccines recommended by the CDC and WHO for travelers to Nigeria is almost the same as the list of injections I got as a child.

My experiences with vaccines made me think about how to help my children through them. We chose a fun-loving doctor with lots of toys in his office. I probably held my children in my lap longer than they wanted me to when they got injections. Comforting them in the antiseptic-smelling medical office brought a measure of healing to me at that moment.

Link It to Your Life

What memories do you have of vaccinations or doctor visits? How did you find courage in painful or distressing situations? Are you able to comfort others when they are fearful of physical or emotional pain?

Father, thank you that I can take refuge in you. Help me to trust that you’ll always hear my cry for help and rescue me. Amen