I is for INJECTION

We were standing in a line, about eight or ten of us altogether, the way you used to many years ago when it was time for class reading. The master never left his desk, but with reading book firmly placed in front of him, eyed the script while choosing, at random, pupils in the line, to read aloud. It was fatal not to follow along as your neighbour read for at any moment you could be next and if the you had lost your place, the might of an enraged headmaster might fall upon your little head. But this day was different. Advanced warning had alerted us to the fact that the doctor was coming to school, not just for a routine inspection of ears and other orifices, but to administer the injection of a fluid into each body with a long, sharp needle and an ever so slight smug grin.

It seemed strange at ten years old to be getting an injection when I was perfectly well for in the past I had witnessed a district nurse inflict pain using a syringe, on my grandmother, though only through hearing and not be sight. But apparently this was necessary to help cure her of whatever illness she had and of course she readily accepted it, though her comments after each medical visit were usually less than complimentary to the administrator. Anyway, there we were, standing in the line, knowing full well that at any moment, the man in the white coat would arrive with his big black bag full of needles and take up residence in the little cloakroom, not far from our classroom door. And we also knew that everyone in the class would be paying him a visit that day. I don't recall exactly the purpose of the injection but somewhere from the recesses of my brain, the words tetanus, diphtheria and whooping cough spring though the thought that one injection could prevent me from taking a multitude of fatal diseases was far beyond my comprehension.

We watched him arrive, though minus his white coat but plus his black bag and some additional boxes which we took to be the injections and before long he was in position and ready to start. I remember little else about the day, whether he began at the junior end of the school or was keen to start with the 'big' pupils but clearly we were not the first class to travel the lonely road, as the cries of fear, uncertainty and obvious pain echoed back from the cloakroom. All I know is that we were reading at the time when, in the midst of a audible sentence, Pamela, who was somewhere in the middle of the line, chose the most inopportune time and place to faint. Whether the less than encouraging noises, seeing the doctor arrive, the threat of definite pain, the waiting or a genuine illness was the cause, I still don't know, but I think she avoided the 'dead man walking' route that day, though I'm sure she didn't escape for ever. Doctors don't forget and their nurses less so! Still the pain was bearable and as a senior pupil, it just wasn't cool to show fear, though in those days, 'cool' still meant something that was not hot! But the greatest part of the day was that we got to keep the plastic syringes after they had been used on us and they made great water pistols for the rest of the day and thankfully, the headmaster turned a blind eye to it all.

I'm not a big fan of injections though age has allowed me to tolerate them but when they happen inside your mouth, everything just seems so much bigger and more threatening and indeed you feel more pain. As son prepares to go to Ecuador this year on mission and will be going through the ritual of necessary injections to protect his health, I certainly don't envy him and I admire his bravery. It would be nice to visit him there but every time I mention it to a close friend, whom I think invented the word hypochondria, he just say one word back to me - 'injections'. I think there is little chance that he will appear in a country which carries any health risk that requires the administration of vaccinations in advance. He just wouldn't be well enough!

Yet the whole injection thing has taught me a valuable lesson about God. Quite simply, He knows exactly what's best for me and when I go through a difficult or painful time, I know that there is a good reason for it and also that it will make me stronger. For God doesn't promise me a life free from trouble, pain, sickness or sadness but He does promise me that He will be there with me no matter what my circumstances. And isn't it also true that He knows exactly how to protect me in every situation. I think of the advances of modern medicine and how the injections we receive deliver us from illnesses that we never have to experience and yet God, in His wisdom has the greatest antidote to the worst illness but too many choose to ignore his cure. The trouble is that without His help, we can never get rid of the illness which will ultimately determine our eternity. In response to criticism, Jesus replied,'Which is easier: to say, 'Your sins are forgiven,' or to say, 'Get up and walk'?' When we don't understand why God doesn't heal every time we ask, maybe it's time to remember that in His eyes, healing of the body can never compare with healing the soul. For that's when He injects new life into us.