Fun with H1N1: "Yoooooooooo hooooooooo, Jesus! Where are you? It's time for your shot!"

I try not to jump on the panic bandwagon. I don't even bother following trends if I can help it. I don't have a pair of skinny jeans in my closet. In the 80's I refused to buy into the Hypercolour shirt craze. You might remember them - the shirts that changed colour in the hot spots (and therefore left most wearers with hypercoloured armpits).

So when news of the H1N1 pandemic broke out, I tried not to panic. At the time, I worked at Vancouver International Airport, welcoming visitors from around the world. My mother (Hi Mom) who thrives on panic and can't sleep unless she's worried for a minimum of 3.5 hours a day, called me almost daily.

"Quit your job!"
"Become a hermit!"
"Wash your hands after every passenger!" (are you serious?)
"Put purell on every 3 minutes!"
"Don't help anyone that looks sick!"
"Wear rubber gloves!"
"Call in sick, even if you're not!"

I didn't do any of those things (actually, I didn't have to, as the industry slumped and my job evaporated last June), and I escaped the first outbreak.

But I have the Little Man at home, and now that H1N1 is all over the place, I have to seriously start thinking about him and HIS health, even if I don't worry so much about my own.

So, Mom, you'll be happy to know I got the vaccine yesterday. I waited in line for over two hours, amid a score of pregnant women and a bunch of others who - like me - have a chronic medical condition.

Little Man was good for the first 1.5 hours.... playing with his noisiest toy fire truck (which made all the seniors' hearing aids buzz and confused the heck out of an assistance dog) and flirting with the pregnant ladies and poking at their bellies, saying "what dat?"

The highlight was when we he spotted the religious paintings on the wall.



The flu clinic was held inside a United Church. (Nice little heritage building, by the way). Little Man demanded to know  who was in the "scary picture" which was a bronzed effect version of Jesus' Last Supper. 


"Oh, that's Jesus and his friends, honey."
"Wat dey doing?"
"They're having dinner."
"Potato? Perogies? Pizza?"
"Uh.. I'm not sure. What do you think Jesus liked to eat?"


He thought about it for a moment.
"Spa-geyyi?"


A few minutes went by. The firetruck toy kept sounding. The hearing aids kept buzzing. The assistance dog kept looking worriedly back at us.


All of a sudden the noises stopped, and a tiny voice in the stroller below me called out:


"Yooooooooo hoooooooooooo, Jesus? Where are you? Time for your shot! Yoooooooooooo hoooooooooo, Jesus? Heyyyyyyoooooooo?"


Gotta love him. For the record, Jesus didn't make an appearance (at least not at our clinic). But even now, a few days later, Little Man keeps asking if Jesus is coming over for spaghetti.