Look! Look! Look at the awful, awful wound I have on my arm. That’s what you get when poked by a needle the size of a McDonald’s straw. You can’t
see anything, you say?! How can you not see the giant welt and angry-red mark? It’s right there, eating half my poor little arm.
No one understands my pain. Woe is me.
This ouch came courtesy of our travel doctor, who, yesterday afternoon, injected us each with the lovely Yellow Fever vaccine (additionally Tetanus in my case because I’ve been remiss and neglectful, and Hepatitis A for Jayne because she’d never had it done). But we now have our Yellow Fever certificates and can enter pretty much any country that
will have Canucks.
Incidentally, I prefer the (slightly exaggerated on my part) torture of getting a needle than the actual disease, because Yellow Fever, it doesn’t mess around. It will make soup of your innards and blood will come out of your ears. Or something like that. You get it from infected mosquito bites. So countries receiving millions of people every year from everywhere in the world, they probably want to make sure Yellow Fever doesn’t become an even bigger problem. Hence, the certificate.
Less than two months to go!