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As the COVID-19 vaccine candidates have begun to roll off the production lines into the distribution networks by the millions, media coverage almost universally includes a still photo or video of someone receiving an injection. Ever observant, a retired lawyer friend of mine who learned to give shots when he was in the Army and again more recently while taking a wilderness survival course emailed me his concerns about what he felt were examples of poor injection technique. Included in his commentary was an Internet link in which a physician, who I suspect may have been a pediatrician, demonstrated what the physician considered proper intramuscular injection technique, which included a single-handed aspiration prior to giving the injection allowing the free hand to stabilize the patient’s – in this case a child’s – arm during the entire process.
I replied to my friend that I too was often troubled by what I considered to be poor injection technique. But, I said the physician in the link touting his improved technique was misguided. My understanding has been that unless the injection site is in the gluteus, there is no need aspirate prior to an intramuscular vaccine injection because the risk of intravascular injection is so small. I then confirmed this by reviewing the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Vaccine Recommendations and Guidelines of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which was updated in June 2019. Included in those recommendations was the observation that the vaccine administrator does not need to wear gloves unless he or she has open lesions or is at risk from contacting the recipient’s body fluids.
Like many of the technical skills one learns in training, giving intramuscular injections is probably an example of the “see one, do one, teach one” mantra. But in the case of giving shots, I don’t recall any teaching. Do you? It was more “see a dozen and get on with it.” Or maybe you trained in an environment in which nurses gave all the injections. I hope not.
When it comes to giving immunizations to children, the art is in entering into that encounter with a calm, matter-of-fact attitude and body language, hiding the needle, firmly restraining the child, and moving quickly and smoothly. Aspirating and glove donning merely add to the drama and waste time. But how did I learn that art? No one taught me. Like many clinical skills, I watched scores of nurses and physicians, mentally logging in their tricks and mistakes that would help me craft my style.
I always felt and still feel that providing immunizations was per hour spent, the most valuable investment of my time. Doing the injecting myself was both the most efficient way to provide the service, and also emphasized the importance that I placed on the immunization. In the process of my 40-plus–year career, that included several hundred thousand patient encounters in which I gave innumerable injections. And, I egotistically assumed that I was good at it because many infants never cried, and a few children said, “That didn’t hurt.” I suspect you can make the same claim.
Injecting millions of adults with a COVID-19 vaccine, on the other hand, is a piece of cake because restraining the recipient shouldn’t factor into the scenario. However, I wonder who is going to administer all those millions of injections and who is going to train them? How many of the trainers are aware of the CDC-ACIP guidelines? Or, are they going to fall back on old techniques that lack evidence support?
From the efficiency standpoint, it probably doesn’t make much difference. The injection takes but a few seconds. Filling out the paperwork and waiting for the recipient to figure out how to expose his or her deltoid can take fifty times that long.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.
As the COVID-19 vaccine candidates have begun to roll off the production lines into the distribution networks by the millions, media coverage almost universally includes a still photo or video of someone receiving an injection. Ever observant, a retired lawyer friend of mine who learned to give shots when he was in the Army and again more recently while taking a wilderness survival course emailed me his concerns about what he felt were examples of poor injection technique. Included in his commentary was an Internet link in which a physician, who I suspect may have been a pediatrician, demonstrated what the physician considered proper intramuscular injection technique, which included a single-handed aspiration prior to giving the injection allowing the free hand to stabilize the patient’s – in this case a child’s – arm during the entire process.
I replied to my friend that I too was often troubled by what I considered to be poor injection technique. But, I said the physician in the link touting his improved technique was misguided. My understanding has been that unless the injection site is in the gluteus, there is no need aspirate prior to an intramuscular vaccine injection because the risk of intravascular injection is so small. I then confirmed this by reviewing the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Vaccine Recommendations and Guidelines of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which was updated in June 2019. Included in those recommendations was the observation that the vaccine administrator does not need to wear gloves unless he or she has open lesions or is at risk from contacting the recipient’s body fluids.
Like many of the technical skills one learns in training, giving intramuscular injections is probably an example of the “see one, do one, teach one” mantra. But in the case of giving shots, I don’t recall any teaching. Do you? It was more “see a dozen and get on with it.” Or maybe you trained in an environment in which nurses gave all the injections. I hope not.
When it comes to giving immunizations to children, the art is in entering into that encounter with a calm, matter-of-fact attitude and body language, hiding the needle, firmly restraining the child, and moving quickly and smoothly. Aspirating and glove donning merely add to the drama and waste time. But how did I learn that art? No one taught me. Like many clinical skills, I watched scores of nurses and physicians, mentally logging in their tricks and mistakes that would help me craft my style.
I always felt and still feel that providing immunizations was per hour spent, the most valuable investment of my time. Doing the injecting myself was both the most efficient way to provide the service, and also emphasized the importance that I placed on the immunization. In the process of my 40-plus–year career, that included several hundred thousand patient encounters in which I gave innumerable injections. And, I egotistically assumed that I was good at it because many infants never cried, and a few children said, “That didn’t hurt.” I suspect you can make the same claim.
Injecting millions of adults with a COVID-19 vaccine, on the other hand, is a piece of cake because restraining the recipient shouldn’t factor into the scenario. However, I wonder who is going to administer all those millions of injections and who is going to train them? How many of the trainers are aware of the CDC-ACIP guidelines? Or, are they going to fall back on old techniques that lack evidence support?
From the efficiency standpoint, it probably doesn’t make much difference. The injection takes but a few seconds. Filling out the paperwork and waiting for the recipient to figure out how to expose his or her deltoid can take fifty times that long.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.
As the COVID-19 vaccine candidates have begun to roll off the production lines into the distribution networks by the millions, media coverage almost universally includes a still photo or video of someone receiving an injection. Ever observant, a retired lawyer friend of mine who learned to give shots when he was in the Army and again more recently while taking a wilderness survival course emailed me his concerns about what he felt were examples of poor injection technique. Included in his commentary was an Internet link in which a physician, who I suspect may have been a pediatrician, demonstrated what the physician considered proper intramuscular injection technique, which included a single-handed aspiration prior to giving the injection allowing the free hand to stabilize the patient’s – in this case a child’s – arm during the entire process.
I replied to my friend that I too was often troubled by what I considered to be poor injection technique. But, I said the physician in the link touting his improved technique was misguided. My understanding has been that unless the injection site is in the gluteus, there is no need aspirate prior to an intramuscular vaccine injection because the risk of intravascular injection is so small. I then confirmed this by reviewing the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s Vaccine Recommendations and Guidelines of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices, which was updated in June 2019. Included in those recommendations was the observation that the vaccine administrator does not need to wear gloves unless he or she has open lesions or is at risk from contacting the recipient’s body fluids.
Like many of the technical skills one learns in training, giving intramuscular injections is probably an example of the “see one, do one, teach one” mantra. But in the case of giving shots, I don’t recall any teaching. Do you? It was more “see a dozen and get on with it.” Or maybe you trained in an environment in which nurses gave all the injections. I hope not.
When it comes to giving immunizations to children, the art is in entering into that encounter with a calm, matter-of-fact attitude and body language, hiding the needle, firmly restraining the child, and moving quickly and smoothly. Aspirating and glove donning merely add to the drama and waste time. But how did I learn that art? No one taught me. Like many clinical skills, I watched scores of nurses and physicians, mentally logging in their tricks and mistakes that would help me craft my style.
I always felt and still feel that providing immunizations was per hour spent, the most valuable investment of my time. Doing the injecting myself was both the most efficient way to provide the service, and also emphasized the importance that I placed on the immunization. In the process of my 40-plus–year career, that included several hundred thousand patient encounters in which I gave innumerable injections. And, I egotistically assumed that I was good at it because many infants never cried, and a few children said, “That didn’t hurt.” I suspect you can make the same claim.
Injecting millions of adults with a COVID-19 vaccine, on the other hand, is a piece of cake because restraining the recipient shouldn’t factor into the scenario. However, I wonder who is going to administer all those millions of injections and who is going to train them? How many of the trainers are aware of the CDC-ACIP guidelines? Or, are they going to fall back on old techniques that lack evidence support?
From the efficiency standpoint, it probably doesn’t make much difference. The injection takes but a few seconds. Filling out the paperwork and waiting for the recipient to figure out how to expose his or her deltoid can take fifty times that long.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.