Flu has me rethinking my policy on shots

It was early in 1977. I was in Pensacola, Fla., stationed at Naval Air Station Whiting Field, serving as a student naval aviator training in the primary Navy flight school aircraft, the T-28 Trojan. Swine flu was in the news.

Swine flu was in the news because of comparisons to the strain that caused the 1918 flu epidemic.

On Oct. 11, 1976, it was national news when three elderly people died shortly after receiving the swine flu serum from the same clinic in Pittsburg. Several states shut down clinics providing the injections as a result.

On Oct. 14, President Gerald Ford and his family received injections in front of TV cameras to stem fears and encourage mass inoculations.

Being that my body was "owned" by the United States Marines, I had little choice when we 2nd lieutenants were marched to the naval health clinic to dutifully receive our swine flu inoculations. I was little more than vaguely aware of the drama unfolding about swine flu. I was an invulnerable, 24-year-old United States Marine flyer.

Anyway, my complete attention was on learning the steps necessary to tame the T-28 Trojan — not on Walter Cronkite’s CBS Evening News dramatizing the swine flu.

A day after being inoculated, I went down. Hard. I wasn’t invulnerable.

My inoculated arm felt like a baseball bat had slammed it. I ached all over. I could hardly get out of bed. I could not remember ever being so sick for so long.

I eventually recovered to graduate. But I vowed to avoid, to the extent I could, getting another flu shot. I was going to take control of my own life and health.

I made it 25 years without getting another flu shot in the Marines. Sure, from time to time I got the flu — though never as bad as the reaction to my swine flu injection — but justified the inconvenience of being sick by the knowledge that by being sick I would appreciate being healthy.

Being sick occasionally is the natural order of things anyway, right?

Fast forward to January 2010, 33 years after my swine flu experience. Have you ever had that epiphany when you knew the exact moment that you had just caused yourself to become sick?

I did the week before last in Quantico, Va. I had just entered a massive Marine Corps research library aboard the base that serves hundreds of people a day. I grabbed the brass handles with my bare hands and opened the door to enter, just as scores had done before me.

I went to the conference room, shook several hands, and was asked a question. The answer was in a binder of documents I was carrying. I opened the binder and, not being able to turn a page, unconsciously licked the tips of two fingers of my right hand so I could turn the page.

Now, I don’t think of myself as obsessive about germs. I wash my hands at every appropriate time and then some. I keep antimicrobial hand wash in the glove compartment of our cars for use after pumping gas. I try to keep my hands away from my face anytime I’m in the public domain. Those are just smart ways to stay healthy, right? Well, when those fingers touched my tongue, I distinctly remember saying to myself, "You idiot! You just got yourself sick." Not very smart.

Sure enough, about four days after I licked my fingers, I came down with the flu. Hard.

It took control of my life for a couple of days last week. I was sick enough this time I actually saw a doctor, a rare thing for me who avoids doctors. I ached much as I remember the aches from my swine flu inoculation 33 years ago.

I believe it’s time to reconsider my self-imposed flu shot prohibition. I learned 33 years ago I was not invulnerable and was painfully reminded again this past week.

While I certainly appreciate being healthy since I’ve recovered, if we have the technology to make the natural order of things "healthy," I should take advantage of it.

Mostly because I have a human wife now (as opposed to my T-28 Trojan "wife" to whom I was dedicated 33 years ago) who, while we share most things, would prefer not to share my virus, especially this one.

Likewise, I’d prefer not to share it with her.

Barry Fetzer is a retired Marine whose column appears here every other week. He can be reached at fetzerab@ec.rr.com.