The rain thundered down outside the door and I relished the opportunity to stay at home today.

My spirits rose as I considered my choices. Keeley and I could stay indoors beside the fire, watch a few Dora dvds and therefore not travel to the dreaded clinic,  rendering my angel safe  from the threat of a bad cold, or worse, a debilitating bout of influenza. No one should travel anywhere today. Or I could take her to that place and subject her to whatever their staff had in store for unsuspecting little girls.

Who am I kidding? I have to take her there for her own health and safety.

Huh! What do those people know? They’ve only studied medicine for a few years. What does that make them?

“Well,” reasons my inner consciousness, “Nurses and Doctors, perhaps. That’s what that makes them.”

Resignation set in and I strapped Keeley into her little car seat. As I did so I felt like one cruel Granny, leading my little Darling to her fate. I started the car and pulled out into traffic, silently praying for engine failure. But to no avail. My little Honey chittered gaily behind me, sadly unaware of what lay ahead. As I drove my mind wandered and I began to question how exactly they give a child an injection nowadays. It had been so long since I had taken one of my own brood, the trauma had been relegated to a sealed drawer at the back of my mind. Visions of handcuffs, various methods of child restraints and force feeding of knock out drops assailed my tortured, guilt-ridden brain. Surely none of these would come into force. She is only three years old. She is only three years old, you sadistic people.

Do these medical practitioners shout at little ones if they cry? Do they threaten unimaginable and untold horrors if they don’t stand still?

Oh! I am a bad Granny. I am not taking her there. Oh, Yes, I am!

The clinic came into view and I stalled the car. Keeley’s innocent presence prevented me from spitting venom at the motorists harassing me from all sides. Having eventually parked the car, my little charge and I, hand in hand, strode valiantly forward like soldiers into battle. Totally unaware of future events, Keeley chattered seamlessly, temporarily allaying my fears. Such a beautiful little girl, her trust in me so evident and pure, and I, the supposedly caring Granny was about to burst her little bubble. Tears came to my eyes and I hastily brushed them away. Wasn’t I going to do enough damage to the child without having her witness her grandmother’s mental breakdown.

On entering the Torture Dome, we were assailed by the scent of bubble gum and cotton candy billowing forth from the overhead ventilation system. Cartoon characters of every description grinned at us from multi-coloured walls, floor tiles in every conceivable hue paved the way for us, shelves resembling Santa’s workshop stacked with toys, bookshelves crammed with children’s favourites waiting to spring open and wordily capture their imagination. A veritable fairy wonderland! How cruel. Was this the gingerbread house? Entice the little ones inside then pounce. This was worse than I ever dreamed possible. Sad, unkind people. Professing to be protectors of children’s health. Shame on you!

Just as I was about to turn tail and take my little charge home, a garishly painted door nearest to us opened, and I kid you not, the female equivalent of Santa stood there, baring her teeth at us – well, okay, smiling in a friendly manner. I hated her on sight. While my heart cried: “You’re not getting her.” I felt Keeley’s hand slide from mine and she merrily skipped over to this apparition. I felt betrayed, bewildered and bested.

My granddaughter, my Keeley, took the proffered hand and fearlessly entered the cavern. My hands shook. I had palpitations, I could feel the beginnings of a hot flush. All in all I was a mess. Calm, cool, collected Keeley, on the other hand, rolled up her sleeve as instructed to receive her “Special Medicine!” They even have cute names for the “poison.” A tear slowly slid down my cheek as I witnessed my precious, brave little grandchild receive, without a whimper, without a cry, without any sound, her swine flu inoculation!

I smiled through my tears as she turned to me and said, “Is that it. Did I get my Special Medicine? I was very brave, wasn’t I, Nanny?