I am fairly secluded in my office. Unless I get up and look around, I never really know what is going on. A moment ago, I stood up to go to the bathroom and noticed something that almost made me faint. Two students were sitting at the conference desk, one passed out while the other was... even saying it makes me feel a little woozy... stabbing him with needles. Just looking at them gave me the shakes, and I had to avert my eyes on my return from the bathroom to make sure that I didn't witness the horrifying event again.
Needles and I are not friends. We have a rather abuse relationship where they like to stab me and I tend to break down in various degrees ranging from crying to panic attacks and everything in between. I have fainted, I have thrown up, and the last time I literally froze and couldn't move for ten minutes straight. They had to carry me to another room in the hospital so that they could continue with their work. And my phobia of needles is rather inconvenient, you see, because I have to be stabbed at least twice a year.
When I first found out that I had a thyroid problem and would have to get my levels tested every 6 months, I am pretty sure that I burst into tears. The prospect of having to go through the ordeal of having blood taken was a terrifying one. One that would make me hyperventilate if I thought about it for two long. That was almost two years ago now, and I still cannot get used to the thought of it. That is why, before I came to Korea, I asked my doctor back home to write me a year's prescription for the drugs rather than the conventional 6 months. Having seen my reaction to needles, he reluctantly agreed, and I left the country happily thinking that I was safe for at least a year. And then I tried to get the drugs. The first few times went just fine, and I managed to get away without having to face the sharp-edged silver monster. Then, a few months in, the doctors started getting curious and started insisting that I needed to be tested. I avoided this by going to different doctors to get my pills, until I couldn't avoid it any more. It was time to face my fear.
Last week I dragged Jess along with me to the doctor. Her job was to distract me while the nurse did the stabbing. At first, it wasn't working. All I could think about was the needle that was going into my arm and I was shaking in my seat. Jess was trying hard to keep me distracted, talking away, but her voice was a blur until I heard the words: "But only when we're drunk. So he'll seem bigger and I'll seem smaller." Uh... what?! I blinked a couple of times and turned all my attention to her as I asked her to tell me the story again from the beginning. She spun a hilarious tale of sex and drinking, all made up of course, and it was enough to distract me completely and have me in stitches from laughing so hard. Needless to say, I didn't notice the rest of the blood-drawing process and didn't even realise it was over until the nurse started trying to get me to put pressure on the cotton wool to stop the wound from bleeding.
Unfortunately, I doubt that this tactic will work back home. Part of its charm is that the nurse couldn't understand a word that we were saying (or so we think anyway!) But the good news is that I had my blood taken without any adverse side-effects (the second time this has happened, I believe). The bad news though is that my thyroid level has gone down even further and I will have to take another test in 3 months time without Jess and her storytelling to distract me.
I wonder what the doctor would say if I asked him to try...
Needles and I are not friends. We have a rather abuse relationship where they like to stab me and I tend to break down in various degrees ranging from crying to panic attacks and everything in between. I have fainted, I have thrown up, and the last time I literally froze and couldn't move for ten minutes straight. They had to carry me to another room in the hospital so that they could continue with their work. And my phobia of needles is rather inconvenient, you see, because I have to be stabbed at least twice a year.
When I first found out that I had a thyroid problem and would have to get my levels tested every 6 months, I am pretty sure that I burst into tears. The prospect of having to go through the ordeal of having blood taken was a terrifying one. One that would make me hyperventilate if I thought about it for two long. That was almost two years ago now, and I still cannot get used to the thought of it. That is why, before I came to Korea, I asked my doctor back home to write me a year's prescription for the drugs rather than the conventional 6 months. Having seen my reaction to needles, he reluctantly agreed, and I left the country happily thinking that I was safe for at least a year. And then I tried to get the drugs. The first few times went just fine, and I managed to get away without having to face the sharp-edged silver monster. Then, a few months in, the doctors started getting curious and started insisting that I needed to be tested. I avoided this by going to different doctors to get my pills, until I couldn't avoid it any more. It was time to face my fear.
Last week I dragged Jess along with me to the doctor. Her job was to distract me while the nurse did the stabbing. At first, it wasn't working. All I could think about was the needle that was going into my arm and I was shaking in my seat. Jess was trying hard to keep me distracted, talking away, but her voice was a blur until I heard the words: "But only when we're drunk. So he'll seem bigger and I'll seem smaller." Uh... what?! I blinked a couple of times and turned all my attention to her as I asked her to tell me the story again from the beginning. She spun a hilarious tale of sex and drinking, all made up of course, and it was enough to distract me completely and have me in stitches from laughing so hard. Needless to say, I didn't notice the rest of the blood-drawing process and didn't even realise it was over until the nurse started trying to get me to put pressure on the cotton wool to stop the wound from bleeding.
Unfortunately, I doubt that this tactic will work back home. Part of its charm is that the nurse couldn't understand a word that we were saying (or so we think anyway!) But the good news is that I had my blood taken without any adverse side-effects (the second time this has happened, I believe). The bad news though is that my thyroid level has gone down even further and I will have to take another test in 3 months time without Jess and her storytelling to distract me.
I wonder what the doctor would say if I asked him to try...
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