Needles Still Scare Me

Today, my mother went for a blood test. It made me recall a similar experience a few months ago at the same hospital. This particular blood test stands out in my memory, as I mentioned in an Instagram comment, because of a mother and daughter. The mother had graying hair, and her daughter appeared to be around my age. Sadly, the daughter had autism. She needed constant care, and her unpredictable behavior made things extremely difficult for her mother. While they were there, the mother was looking for a trash can. I apologized for not noticing it sooner, found one, and showed her. She was very grateful.

This mother and daughter were there around the same time as me. Even after I had finished all my blood tests and left, they were still busy, retrieving documents from their car. We also overlapped in the phlebotomy area. Unlike me, who surprisingly(?) cooperated, her daughter was constantly fidgeting and protesting, shouting things like "Leave me alone!" and "What are you doing?" An extra nurse had to be assigned to help. It was utter chaos. In contrast, I, as in the past, had to endure two or three needle pricks before they could finally draw blood because they couldn’t find a vein.

At almost forty, needles still terrify me. This stems from frequent hospitalizations and surgeries in my childhood, which included IVs and injections. The hospital atmosphere, the smell, even the doctors’ white coats have become a kind of trauma deeply ingrained in me. Even as a student and adult, I hated seeing needles and the sensation of them piercing my skin. Even during my medical exam for my US immigration application, when I had to get several injections, my parents scolded me for being so restless and anxious.

As a grown adult, I know I should control my emotions rationally, but the process of a nurse firmly slapping my skin and disinfecting it with alcohol before an injection is still pure agony. And it’s not just this last time; every time I get a blood test, the nurses meticulously search my arm, prodding and pinching, before finally finding a suitable spot, usually requiring at least two attempts. No wonder I hate it so much.

Thinking about it, I’ve had three COVID-19 vaccine shots, and I’m proud of myself for enduring them. In fact, I remember them being relatively less painful than blood tests (a slightly lighter prick?). I suppose the scale and process of drawing blood and administering vaccines are just different.