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Wednesday, February 8, 2012

A Good Day

"You need to go have your whooping cough needle," Tracey told me this morning. It was the same thing she'd told me yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and every day back to before our little Miss0 was born.

As I see it, I have a healthy and rational fear of needles. Healthy because there is absolutely no way I'll ever become a junkie. Rational because it makes complete sense to want to avoid something which friggin well hurts.

There have been times, I'll admit, when it has caused me some discomfort. Like when I needed a camera tube fed down my throat, into my gullet, so the docs could see if I had an ulcer. A friend with a similar needle-phobia told me he had the procedure without the sleep inducing jab, so I told the doc I didn't want it either.

Fully conscious they inserted the tube down my throat and took pictures and samples while I physically aged, my only consolation being that old mate had gone through this before me and he was fine. It was uncomfortable. It was brutal. It was hell.

Of course, when I saw him a few weeks later and he inquired how it had gone I told him I also went through it without a needle.

"So you had the gas," he said.

"The what the?' I asked.

"The gas. To put you out." Dang.

That was the last time I ever had any procedure without whatever the hell drugs they wanted to give me.

I know where my fear of needles stems from - those arm killing tetanus shots. And do you know what they mix the whooping cough vaccination in with. You guessed it. So I've been trying to think of reasons I can do without it.

"Did you see how many needles I had during and after the birth?" Tracey demanded of me this morning.

"Yes," I admitted, "but you wanted them." When she balked at that I continued. "I was there so you can't pretend otherwise," I told her. "They asked you if you wanted them and you said yes. I definitely don't want this so it's very different."

Needless to say, shortly after this I went to the doctors for my needle.

When I arrived home, Tracey was very sympathetic.

"How'd you go?" she beamed at me.

"Great," I beamed back at her. "I didn't need it. I'm up to date. I had them when Miss2 was born."

Tracey was clearly thrilled for me. "You shit!"

Furthermore the doc said I wouldn't need any sort of a booster shot now until the grandkids start arriving, so I've decided I'm going to start giving Master20 & Miss17 condoms for Christmases and Birthdays. Hopefully that'll buy me a decade.

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About Me

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Bruce Devereaux is one of the nicest people he knows. When not at work he enjoys reading, writing, hiding from his children and not changing nappies.


His career, and if we used the term any more loosely an e might fall out, has included a gardener, a personal lender, a console operator, a stop/go man (not as big a bludge as you might think but great if you’re into sunburn, abuse and varicose veins), a cleaner of banks and pubs and, for a very brief period, a door to door salesman (until the last door he knocked on was answered by a very scary woman with tremendously hairy legs).


Bruce Devereaux currently works as a forty-five-year-old award winning customer service officer (glass statuette available upon request) for the Bank of Queensland and as a very casual employee for Corrective Services. He likes to believe he excels at both but then he has always been prone to exaggeration.


His favourite colour is green, with a picture of Dame Nellie Melba on one side and General Sir John Monash on the other. His favourite flower is self-raising.

 If you see him around town, call his wife immediately - he's probably snuck out and left her alone with all the kids.


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