I hate needles. I don’t just hate them, I HATE them! When I was little, I used to run and hide, scream and cry, grab onto furniture, doorjambs, or anything I could grab to keep them from stabbing me in the butt with whatever shot I needed (most often penicillin). It usually took both parents and a nurse to hold me down. It always seemed like the answer whenever I got hurt was to go get a shot of penicillin right in my butt. I don’t know if they still do that to people or not. It doesn’t seem like it, and I sometimes wonder if it wasn’t just my parents getting revenge on me for getting hurt and being a bad kid. My most vivid memory of needle pain was in Utah. I don’t remember why I was getting another shot, but there I was. They had someone holding me down and someone else holding onto my arms. As soon as that needle stabbed into my butt cheek I broke my arm free of the hold and I chopped it behind me. I hit the doctor’s wrist. Unfortunately, that wrist was holding the needle that was buried in me. It ripped up the inside of my butt, bent the needle in me, and they said I hurt the doctor. After they held me down better, he injected me again. This time he put it in right in the same spot so that it would hurt like hell! And it sure did. My butt hurt horribly for days! I guess I deserved it and it was my fault, but still. Ouch.

I hated needles enough that I refused to let the doctors inject me with painkillers the first time I broke my arm (Washington state). They finally said they would give me a pill instead of a shot, but they were going to set the arm right away. Since the pills take about 20 minutes to start working, they would be setting both broken bones in my arm without any pain killers. I chose that instead of letting them stick a needle in me. They were definitely right, too: it hurt a LOT! A year later when I broke my arm in Japan they used the needle and I didn’t have a choice. I should have taken the shot the first time because I didn’t feel a thing after that shot!

When I was in the Army we had to learn Combat Lifesaving skills. That usually meant giving someone an IV since we had lots of saline bags and it involved some dude who has never been anything close to a medic stabbing some other soldier with a needle and everyone cheering (if there was blood) or booing (if they did it right). Well, I ended up being that victim all the time. My leadership found out I hated needles, so every freaking time they wanted someone to get stabbed it became, “Otty! Get over here! You there, have you ever given an IV? No, good. Go get the medic and stick Otty.” I was not a fan, but just like with snakes I eventually learned to tolerate needles. I still hate them, but they don’t make me freak out anymore. I guess that is good since I have had so much blood drawn over the past 6 years trying to figure out my eyes. They take vial after vile. With how much blood everyone takes if I ever need a new job I could get a job having a vampire drink my blood!

Love,
Fazia