Shots Suck

Growing up, I had Aichmophobia--a fear of needles/sharp objects--to the point that I would scream, hollar, struggle, cry, and run out of the room if given the chance. I just couldn't sit still when the shots came out. My skin tingled in frantic anticipation, my heart jumped like a jackrabbit, and my eyes doubled in size. My parents and a nurse or two would have to restrain me so that the doctor could help me.

But by seven, all that changed. My world was wrapped in fog--it was as if my senses were made of cotton, making it impossible to truly feel. Well, I take that back, I could feel nausea and thirst and pain just fine, but happiness and the like were nearly impossible to grasp. We went to the doctor; we got the news; my parents sped me to the hospital.

My body was killing me. Diabetes is a disease that essentially coerces the body into commiting suicide, where every mistep causes dangerous complications. But I wasn't scared for myself. I was terrified at the tears and runny noses and broken postures my parents couldn't hide. Even when the doctors filled the first syringe with insulin, I didn't care. When it pierced my arm deep, stinging my muscle, I didn't care. I just wanted the fog to clear and my parents to be okay.

Needless to say, I no longer have Aichmophobia. When you go a decade giving yourself shots and hanging out in hospitals, silly fears ebb away. I still fret over my mom, but she's strong and so am I. We'll get through this.