Needles

I think I’ve always disliked needles. There are couple of instances that I recall as being particularly horrific in relation to them and that has fuelled my dislike ever since. My Mom tells a story about when I was little (too little to recall myself) and I got what I assume were normal childhood vaccinations and all the way back home I kept crying and telling her, “You’ve done it now, Mummy, you’ve really done it now!” over and over.

The next needle I recall was one in grade two when they lined us all up, walked us forward and gave us booster shots in school. I was terrified and completely numb as I walked forward towards the nurse. I rolled my sleeve up, looked the other way and didn’t even flinch as she injected me. It was over fast and I was able to escape without making a scene. Some of the others cried and I overheard two of my classmates saying to each other, “Did you see Graeme? He didn’t even flinch or anything! Woah!” which was great for my reputation as a tough guy but completely opposite to what I had been feeling.

One of my best friends lived on a farm and his Dad came in from the yard one day with a cow needle that I swear was a at least 8 inches long, two inches in diameter and had a needle about six inches long. I must have squeaked at the sight of it cause he turned to look at me and said, “Are you ready for your needle?”. I was terrified! Was he kidding? He then stood up and walked towards me with this giant needle in his hands! I jumped up and he proceeded to chase me round the kitchen table a few times before laughing and saying, “Don’t be silly, it’s for the cows.” I shakily laughed and we had dinner.

As a young man I liked to play with knives and had a small little chunk of exacto blade that I kept in my pencil case. In grade 7 I was whittling away in Mr Lambert’s Social Studies class at a piece of plastic bobbin from the home ec class I had been in the class prior. It stuck, slipped and sliced my finger open. I looked down, said, “oops!” and then asked to go the toilet to clean it and put a paper towel around it. When I got to the toilets and put it under running water the skin peeled back and I could see the white of the bone. Feeling a touch faint I went back to the class and asked if I could go to the Principles office and call my Mum. She took me to the doctors and they looked at it and said that yes, I needed stitches. They then proceeded to give me a half dozen injections, directly into and around the cut. I went a bit nuts and begged them not to do it, howled when they did and sniffled my way through the rest of the stitching. Not my finest moment to be sure!

Not long after I had another needle encounter in the Vulcan hospital. I ended up in Lethbridge and had my appendix out, but the needles that did the damage were in the Vulcan hospital. They were going to keep me in for the night and wanted to run an IV from the back of my hand. What ensued was six attempts by the nurse to find a vein, lots of stabbing and needle scaping on the bones at the back of my hand, blood all over and no IV. Needless to say I was not happy. When we got to Lethbridge the nurse there looked at my hand and said to my mum with a tone of horror that spooked me even further, “How many times did they miss?!”! She then soothed me, swabbed the hand with alcohol and proceeded to nail the vein first try in a fraction of a second. It was done, taped and forgotten in less than a minute.

I went needle free for a long time after that, choosing laughing gas over a needle when I broke my nose the first time, opting for medical glue over stitches for my hand in Uni and then managed to steer clear of them for years.

When my eldest was only a year or so old I left work one day to come home and help out with dinner and bath time and etc. I don’t remember the sequence of events leading up to the slice, but I remember throwing something into the sink and catching my thumb on the top of an open can lid. There wasn’t much blood but the slice was deep. Off to the doctors I went and sure enough, I needed stitches! My daughter was watching me as the doctor came at my thumb wound with the needles… I knew I had to put on a brave face so as not to scare her. It was probably the weirdest smile I have ever given her but I smiled the whole time the doctor stabbed the wound and my thumb and then the numbing kicked in and I was able to breathe.

Which brings me to the needle I got on Monday evening. It was gigantic…and I mean gigantic! She loaded up three bottles of stuff, swabbed down my shoulder and then pumped in a huge volume of steroid and local anaesthetic. I didn’t watch and she could tell I was uneasy, but I made it! I had not freaked out! I had been nervously shaking and shallow breathing though, I realised once it was over and took a steadying deep breath. How is it something so tiny and relatively painless has such a strong hold on me? Not sure I will ever know, but at least I can manage to get needles now and not lose it. Fun times!