I hate needles. No, really, MORE than YOU hate needles - trust me on this.
Why does someone who hates needles as much as I do have so much contact with them? It seems like every time I turn around, someone has another reason for sticking a needle in me. When I go to get a blood test, I have to sit down (of course) but sometimes I have to lie down! And sometimes, I have inadvertently ended up on the floor. I'm known by the technical term: "Passer-Outer."
I believe this all started when, at the tender age of 7, I begged my Mom to let me get my ears pierced. She said I was old enough to make the decision for myself and marched me down to the local jewelry store. I remember being a little nervous - they said it would be over before I knew it. "It's just loud, it doesn't hurt!" they said. Well, I'm here to tell them that, yes, it was loud but it also HURT! I remember it. I remember thinking that maybe just one pierced ear would look cool, why need two?! But, I went through with it and had two perfectly pierced ears. Instructions were given and my mom paid. I felt...well...weird. But, what did I know? I was 7! We walked out of the store and down the sidewalk, waited to cross the street and that's when it happened....in the middle of the street. I passed out. Down for the count. My mother will contest this story by saying it was NOT in the middle of the street, but on the sidewalk outside the jewelry store but I specifically remember nearly getting run over by a bus in the middle of the street. Okay, there was no bus, but it was in the crosswalk.
After that experience, I remember my mother telling my father that she was NEVER taking me anywhere to get anything that dealt with medical issues or needles again. That was now my father's job. I remember my father being completely unconcerned about this new responsibility.
UNTIL, I was 17 and registering for college and MY MOTHER had lost ALL proof that I'd ever had any baby shots or vaccinations - EVER! Well, guess what, they don't allow you to get a higher education without proof. To get into a university, not only do you have to be smart-ish, you also have to be fully vaccinated. It was time for my poor father to "man up." He bravely drove me to the county health department (which, as I remember was not a fun trip, I was a basket case and I believe I threatened vomiting several times). He took me in and I got the shots. I had to lay down for a quite a while but I did not pass out. Just barely. I think they gave me a cookie. A cookie! Hmph! I should think so! I still haven't forgiven my mother for losing my shot records!
Through the years, I've passed out too many times to count. I feel fine and then BOOM someone is waving smelling salts in my face and yelling at me. I've been told several times, "Wow! I've never had to actually USE the smelling salts before!" Always comforting. And in case you are wondering, the floor of the labs where they take your blood is really cold and hard. I know this because I've ended up there often.
My fear of needles is exasperated by the fact that I apparently have "thin, ropey, rolling veins." It's hard to find a vein and when they do, I guess they like to roll away. Just even *thinking* about my veins makes me feel like I should lay down and get a cookie. <shudder>
So, the whole point of this rambling is to ponder why someone like me, deathly afraid of needles, comes in such frequent contact with them...
I'm going to need another cookie to come up with any answers.
(Boob Count = Still 19)