Vaccinations and second childhood

Older people are said to experience a “second childhood.” The stereotype is that of a silly old man or woman acting childish, often on the verge of dementia. I resist that image, although sadly it does describe some people. Those people deserve compassion, not sarcasm.

But it is true that many childhood memories and emotional experiences are alive and active in our inner persons, maybe more so the older we get. They influence how we feel and act.

Take getting shots. Maybe this is a trivial example, but in this regard I’m still a child. I hate getting shots. My gut begins twisting and tightening as the time approaches, like when I was a little girl and my parents told me this was better than getting measles. And it was. But, still….

It’s really not as bad as it used to be. I’ve spent much of my adult life living abroad and that meant typhoid, hepatitis, yellow fever, and other gruesome shots. While I never liked them, I learned to tolerate the experience.

But I still feel that jab of fear. I have a coping strategy. I sit in the chair, my arm bared and waiting, and I pretend I’m a grown-up, even as that frightened inner child shakes. My face doesn’t let anything but indifference show. Afterwards I inevitably say to myself, “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Maybe that makes me mature, not childish. I’m committed to getting that annual flu shot, and now the latest Covid vaccine, no matter what. So, stop crying, inner child.

(An aside: When I looked for vaccination images on the Internet, most of the offerings were cheerful--people sitting in the chair, needle in arm, smiling smugly. Even children. Even babies. I remember bringing my babies in for their shots. They may have been smiling beforehand, but that was quickly followed by a look of pure shock, and then the wails.)

Currently I have six red spots on my face. No one has said anything about them to me, so maybe they aren’t conspicuous. But in the mirror, I look like I have some infectious childhood disease.

Last week on a routine checkup, my dermatologist told me I had six pre-cancerous spots on my face. She followed this information by saying, “But it’s nothing to worry about.” Right. She then took out her slender silver gun, aimed it at my face, pulled the trigger, and froze each spot. Each shot stung for a brief moment.

Looking back, I realize that I experienced no fear. And I’ll do it again next year if necessary. I have no qualms although this procedure stings more than a flu shot or the dreaded drawing of blood.

I wonder why. Maybe it’s because I have no frozen-face childhood memories. Maybe it’s because anything that reduces the possibility of cancer is worth the pain involved. I don’t know why I’m so calm about this. I’m just standing back and observing these things about myself.

It’s intriguing how some childhood fears linger, even into old age. We change, of course, and hopefully find ways of facing these fears. Something that helps me do this is humor. I look at myself and chuckle. I write silly blogs. And I show up at the doctor’s office no matter what I’m feeling.

You can laugh at me, too.

Or, better yet, laugh at yourself.

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