I love older Southern women. The stereotypical kind-- you know what I mean. They have this particular accent and way of speaking that would sound out of place on anyone else. Their hair is permed. They love food. They call you sweetie. In fact, they remind me of my paternal grandmother MINUS the martyr complex and offbeat pre-dementia, PLUS a more mothering attitude.

This week I discovered that my new-I'm-a-semi-grownup-with-my-very-own health insurance covered the HPV vaccine. My catholic parents would not let me have the HPV vaccine because they don't really understand the research on it-- more than that, they don't really understand how vaccines work. They also don't understand that even if you only have sex with the one person you marry, you can still get a disease. They told me if I wanted it, it would cost about $400 dollars and I would have to pay for it myself.

Anyway, when I discovered that I could get the vaccine using my own health insurance, I decided to do the responsible thing. I made an appointment and showed up 20 minutes early. No one was there except the vaccination nurse. She was ordering breakfast sandwiches for the office and asked me if I wanted one. I said no, thanks. She prepared me for the shot, telling me it would hurt. After I told her I'd had the flu shot, she said "Oh, no, honey, people tell me this is way worse than that!" and gleefully stuck the syringe into my arm.

HOLY BALLS it hurt! I'm strange because I've always, since I was a toddler, morbidly enjoyed getting shots. This was pretty unpleasant, though. After the injection, there was this burning sensation in my muscle for about two minutes, and for the next few hours, aching. But I love older southern women. In Chicago, some disillusioned and vitamin D deficient nurse would have dispassionately sent me on my neurotic way, leaving me to worry about insurance payments, side effects, and deltoid muscle atrophy. This woman gave me a little pat, told me I'd feel better soon, and made me feel just as secure as if she'd hugged me and put a lunch in my hand.

Hooray for southern women! And for immunocompetence.