What’s the toddler chickenpox vaccine like?

For the first 14 years of my life, I always had a fringe. A thick one, the kind you often see in 90s photographs – like a lampshade around my head. You see, I needed it to hide a rather ugly chickenpox scar on my forehead that kids would often point out (in only the way kids do) the very few times my hair was accidentally swept away. 

I don’t remember getting chickenpox but from the sounds of it, it’s awful. Horrifically awful. So because of this, and my shallow-vain fringe reason, I was immediately curious when I discovered I could pay for a chickenpox vaccine. 

In fact, I was looking forward to it. Immediately after my daughter was born, I was counting down the months to her first birthday – then disappointed as a nationwide shortage hit us. Add to that my pregnancy and subsequent newborn-in-the-house and only last week did we manage to walk into a Boots in Waitrose so she could get a loving jab to her leg.

That’s not to say I didn’t have concerns. While my daughter has had the rest of her vaccinations, I always worry about side effects and google the risks. However, as countries like Italy, Spain and Germany routinely vaccinate against chickenpox, I decided there was a large pool of people to have every risk possible tested out. 

And I have always come to the conclusion that the illness is worse than the vaccination.

We all know that chickenpox involves feeling god-awful before those dreaded spots and blisters develop. Not only that, in extreme cases the virus can cause bacterial or brain infection, as well as pneumonia or sepsis. It’s also every nursery’s worst nightmare as it’s VERY contagious: if one person has it, 90% of the people close to them will also become infected if they’re not immune. While several agencies have recommended the UK vaccinates all babies at 12 months, at the moment it can only be paid for privately. 

With my appointment booked, I threw away all the Nurofen in the house (aspirin and chickenpox should NEVER mix, whether it’s from the vaccine or the full-blown illness). I also checked for any fever for a few days leading up to it and on the morning, frantically grabbed my red book as I was running late because – wonder upon wonders – we’d all overslept. (You can see why I was checking for sickness.)

However, after a few permission forms, we sat in the pharmacist’s private room with my daughter clutching her favourite toy. Perhaps sensing the tension in the room, she was already wailing before we’d started. Then I saw the pharmacist prepare the needle so I gritted my teeth and… absolutely nothing. 

She didn’t give a crap. 

My child had just been stabbed in the leg with a needle and looked relieved because we’d finally all chilled out. 

In fact, it’s been two days and I’ve had to check her thigh for proof she ever had the jab and I wasn’t having some kind of oddball dream. There’s been no change to her energy or appetite. In fact, she was on a zipwire just 24 hours later. 

We’ve got our second appointment booked for a few weeks time. Considering how much we hated the MMR given to her at one years old, it’s amazing a chickenpox vaccine wasn’t available at the same time. There’s been talk of the NHS rolling out a vaccination programme for little ones which I would wholeheartedly get behind as it looks like my daughter’s avoided this horrible virus. 

And of course, a dodgy fringe.