There are few visits to the doctor's surgery that I fear more than my annual flu jab.
I am not a fan of needles. In fact, I'm probably one of their biggest anti-fans.
To me, the concept of paying someone to stab me with a needle is simply traumatising.
It's a sad coincidence, therefore, that one thing I detest more than a needle is the flu. And so every year I drag myself through the ordeal of a flu jab in the hope that I'm saving myself from the greater evil of the flu itself.
This year, however, my plan failed. I got my shot - yes - but I also got a horrendous case of the flu. I won't burden you with the anger I felt; I'll only let you know that I was furious.
Furthermore, I didn't even get a refund for my useless injection.
Apparently I caught "an alternative strain of flu". Clutching at straws, I found consolation in that at least I hadn't succumbed to the "common" flu.
Who on Earth could have given me this vile virus? None of my flatmates was sick, and thanks to my many assignments, I hadn't stepped out of the house lately. Except when I left for Christchurch; actually, I'm quite sure that I got the flu from the bus ride. Or, rather, from the girl I sat beside.
When I stepped on to the bus, I saw that (due to the lack of spare seats) I was going to have to sit next to either an elderly lady or another female student.
I didn't mind at all who I sat beside, as long as they wouldn't interrupt me while I read my book for six hours.
The elderly lady smiled up at me and kindly moved her bag on to the floor: "Would you like to sit here, dear?"
I knew instantly that this woman would be inclined to chatter. I told her that I didn't want her to have to move her bag for me; I'd sit on the other seat.
So, that's how I ended up beside the female student. She didn't even look over, or unplug an earphone from her head, as I settled myself. Perfect, I thought, as I opened my book.
Despite being shoulder-to-shoulder for half a day, the girl and I hardly exchanged a word. When we stopped in Ashburton, I asked if she'd like me to move so that she could get off the bus.
She shook her head. That was our one and only "conversation".
Retrospectively, of course, I realise that she probably didn't talk because she'd lost her voice to the flu that I am now suffering from. I know it's not the girl's fault that she was sick - but I do wish that she'd stayed at home.
If that wasn't an option for her, it would've been helpful if she'd plastered a sign on her forehead to warn the world of her contagiousness. Or, at the very least, if she'd rattled out a little tell-tale cough as I stepped aboard.
Such action would have spared me so much suffering! And you, too, for having to read about my suffering. Oh, but misery likes company. Self-pity: This is surely the worst of my symptoms.
- Katie Kenny studies English at the University of Otago
