Skinny people suffer more when they get a shot for something. It is because the medicine has nowhere to go. It just sits there in a bolus, in your muscle, until your scrawny butt finds the means to  absorb it. Even the wussy little covid shot sat there in my scrawny arm for a couple hours.
In Peace Corps I had to get a gamma globulin shot every couple months. That was 5cc’s of cold goo, making a golf ball on my um…  hindquarters. Then I had to go sit in the Volunteer Lounge for half an hour, to be sure I wasn’t gonna have a reaction to it. And I never did. The shot kinda hurt, but probably a lot less than whatever horrible African affliction it was meant to prevent would hurt. And like all Peace Corps medicine, accept it, or go home, so I suffered through it.
I would walk up the hall from the clinic to the Volunteer lounge, and pick up my mail from the “B” box. It was a cubby, about 4 inches on each side. And there were 4 other B last named volunteers whose mail was also there. I wrote a lot of letters while in Africa, and many people wrote back. Letters were reminders of my other life, and my connection to stateside.The B box was always crammed, and many were mine. I didn’t get into town that much, so they would build up.The other B’s gave me a lot of grief for having to sort through all mine to find theirs.
So, one time, about two  years into my service there, when I was in for my gamma globulin, I was sitting in the volunteer lounge, on the non-golfball side of my hindquarters, sorting through the pile of mail, and arranging my letters in the order that I wanted to read them. Another volunteer walked in.
Volunteer: Hi Sam! How’s it going?
Me: Livin the dream. How bout you?
Volunteer: Holy crap Sam! Your face is bright purple! Do you feel ok?
Now that she mentioned it, my body was feeling kind of buzzy, and my face felt hot.
Me: Um, I don’t know.
She took off running down the hall to the clinic, to fetch Kiki. Kiki was a Greek woman, who was the Nurse that ran the medical clinic for volunteers. She was great. She let me take a hot shower in the clinic when I was in the office because she knew there was no water at my school. She was competent and compassionate, and I loved her. They came bustling back, and got me up, and hustled me back to the clinic, and laid me out on the bed there. I was feeling a tiny bit dizzy. Kiki was pumping the blood pressure cuff at the same time she was listening to my heart with her stethoscope. The volunteer put a rolled up blanket under my feet. But for all their efforts, I died right there on the bed.
That is how I end the story when I tell it vocally. Nobody ever knows what to do when I say that, and lapse into silence with a sad face. I love the stunned looks on their faces. It is so cognitively dissonant.
But it is not true. Actually, the dizziness passed in about 5 minutes, and my face became its dusty sunburned self again. I got up and walked back to the volunteer lounge and got back to my mail. I guess it was reactions like that, that were behind the sitting in the lounge for half an hour after the shot. It never happened again, but Kiki was always on the lookout after my gg  shots for the rest of my tenure there.
Best medical care I ever had was in Peace Corps.   <3
It was getting to it that was the problem.