I have this crippling fear of needles, shots in particular. I once went through this phase in middle school where I actually redirected pointy objects that were facing me (a pencil on the desk, a knife at the dinner table… I know, I know. In my defense, this was a brief phase). I mean, sure, nobody LIKES shots (actually, I do know someone that embraces shots simply because everyone else is scared of them) and I don’t know about anybody else, but for me, getting a shot is always this hugely traumatic affair. The last time I got one, I completely freaked out. But I tried to keep in mind that I was seventeen and almost a legal adult, so as the nurse was leaving (after IMPALING me) I was practically sobbing, “Th-th-thank you,” with the result that I came across less of a mature adult and more of an overly emotional (but polite) toddler.
I have to get a few shots this week before I set off for college. Hoo boy. I won’t even get into the time they missed the vein (I can’t even tell this story without gagging) and had to… move the needle around… gah, never mind. Not getting into it. Oh, God. Here come the flashbacks. Assuming I survive THAT procedure, next I have to get a filling. My first filling. EVER. I don’t know… is this a milestone most people have hit by age eighteen? For all my anxiety over shots, it’s been a long time since I’ve been scared of the dentist. Orthodontia desensitized me. My mouth was a mess when I was a child. Teeth were growing in sideways. The orthodontist had to get very creative, and over the last decade we’ve assumed a casual buddy-buddy relationship.
Anyway, I’ll admit it: I’m a wimp. I’ve owned up to my utter wimpiness and hope that’ll be enough to spare me.