Phobia

Everyone is afraid of something. I’m afraid of needles. Apparently it’s a common fear, but often times when I bring it up to people, they look at me like I’m a child. I hate needles: short ones, long ones, skinny ones, fat ones. Just the sight of a syringe at the doctor’s office makes me hyperventilate. Just the idea of going to the doctor’s freaks me out because the possibility of getting a shot is always at the back of my mind, no matter what I’m going there for. Of course, this doesn’t help when they have to check my blood pressure, which ends up sky high every time they check it so they think it’s naturally that high. Obviously, that’s no good either.

I had a traumatic experience with needles, which is most likely where the source of my fears came from. Everyone has to get shots before going to Kindergarten. I didn’t know this until one day, when I was five, my parents were hinting at going to the doctor, talking about shots. I felt worried and I panicked a little bit. My mom looked at me straight in the eye, and a little irritated she said, “You’re going to get a shot today.” I started bawling, naturally.

The next thing I remembered was sitting in our green family van on our way downtown to the clinic by the Cedar Rapids Public Library (before it flooded). I refused to get out of the car and I was still crying. My mom yanked me out of my seat and my parents both dragged me, each an arm in hand, into the office that smelled too much like sanitizers and rubber gloves. I hate that smell.

Sitting in the waiting room was awful. My mom went to check in at the desk where the receptionist was pecking away at her computer and my mom signed a few forms using a pen with a plastic spoon taped to it. I thought that was really weird. It still didn’t take away from how deathly afraid I was. The nurse called my name and my parents had to drag me, again, kicking and screaming into the room.

They plopped me onto the table and I glanced to the counter where two, not one, but TWO thin syringes with their tell-tale orange caps sat there mocking me. I was beyond hysterical by now, and it didn’t help that the nurses that were going to administer the shots weren’t the nicest. I mean come on, I was a five-year-old girl and that shit was scary. I remember quite vividly kicking one of the nurses and my mom was holding me down, chuckling.

Because of this traumatic experience, I’ve had an extreme fear of needles, shots, doctors, you name it for years. Just the idea of going to the doctor freaks me out because I’m afraid that my mother is secretly hiding the fact that a shot is in store for me at every visit. Call me crazy or childish, but I’m sure you’re afraid of something, too.

 

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