Don't Nab me with a Needle

The biggest worry which plagued my early childhood was an intense, insane and innate fear of syringes. Ever since I was three, I would shudder anytime a doctor would be near me. I would pray that my mother would forget about an approaching appointment, and called vaccines ‘third-grade torture’. I refused to travel to the neighbourhood our doctor lived, in fear that we would be popped in for a ‘surprise visit’ and would spend sleepless nights worrying. Once, I worked myself into a state of fever and the doctor had to postpone the date.

In the doctor’s office, I would sit on my father’s lap, sobbing, while reaching my arm out to be pierced. I would close my eyes and refuse to communicate with the doctor. Both my doctor and father would jokingly call me the ‘toughest patient ever’, and would administer the injection. Before I would know it, the whole process would be over, and I would sigh with relief.

I would never feel any pain, but the thought of an injection made me queasy. The days leading up to the ‘D-day’ were more difficult than the actual ‘act’. I genuinely believed that I would always be afraid of the syringe.

During a dental visit, my ‘worst’ nightmare came true. My orthodontist noticed a ‘lodged’ canine in my gums, and suggested a ‘multiple tooth extraction’ to help my teeth structure. He wanted me to go under local anaesthesia which would numb my gums (and require four injections) and extract two teeth the next day. He described the process as a ‘minor surgery’ – surgery was a word I never wanted to hear.

While I was quite terrified, I knew that trying to stall the unavoidable process and asking for a later date would only add to my anxiety. My father, the person I usually cling on to, wasn’t there, and I had to face the needles alone. Not having time to process it, and surviving on the adrenaline rush, I didn’t freak out before the extraction. I channelled my anxiety to prepare for the ‘torture’ and focused on the present moment.

The whole extraction seemed to end before it started, was painless and complication-free. The iota of discomfort or ache during those forty minutes was forgotten as I realised how calm I had been through the whole process.

For most people, this wouldn’t be a big deal, but for me, a panic-stricken, trypanophobe, it meant conquering a fear – something I thought was impossible.