a vestige of thought...

I've never partucularly been fond of needles. I'm hesitant to say I'm actually afraid of them, but I have a definite aversion. I used to be able to watch the doctor give me shots. It didn't phase me in the least. As I think back on it, there are a number of factors that have contributed to my current and growing dislike. The first of these occurred when I was ten. Four days after my birthday I went to the doctor for a physical where I was given three shots and a TB test (where they stick you in the forearm and make your skin bubble with some strange liquid). When I walked out of the room my vision blacked out and I guess someone carried me to a room where they gave me some Sunny Delight and an extremely ugly green, oddly shaped puke bucket that would have been much too small if I actually had thrown up. Two years later, when I was in 6th grade, my life skills teacher told the class about how- while sewing her wedding dress- she sewed through her hand and had to go to the hospital to have a sewing machine needle removed from her index finger. I still cringe thinking about it. After that I used the sewing machine for the shortest amount of time required to pass the class and have avoided them ever since. Today I went to the doctor to get the physical required for starting college. I had a total of four needles stuck in me and it was great fun. First they drew blood, which I've never been wild about (but I've never actually had to do it before). Later I got two shots (one in each arm) and a TB test. Once again I very nearly passed out, but managed to avoid it. Two nurses carried me to a room where they made me lie down and gave me apple juice and a South Beach Diet breakfast bar. Now I just have sore arms. And a very strong dislike of needles.

I must be all grown up now. Last time I got a shot I got a Snoopy bandaid. This time all my bandaids were brown. How sad.