I’ve ended up in the same conversation a few times over as of late - stories about being adverse to needles. In-fact, I have a massive phobia of needles that has landed me in some hot water over the years. I thought I’d share them down onto my blog, so that you can all have a great laugh at my expense.
Now, my background covers a lot of medical experiences and training thanks to a varied work life. I’ve seen so many animal accidents, sicknesses, blood and gore you’d think I’d be used to it by now; but no, I’m really not. It all started back when I was young. My father will always deny this; in fact, he calls me silly for it - but he started it. He used to chase me, put his fingers at the back of my knees and middle of arms and shout “injection time”. I used to hate it, and even now, I absolutely hate being touched behind my knees or my arms. It makes me feel quite physically sick.
As written about previously, I had major health issues throughout my teenage years. The amount of needles, blood samples, canula fittings I endured must have gone well into the hundreds. All you need is a few bad experiences and BOOM! A phobia is born. Fear is completely stupid, because it’s always completely irrational. But that is exactly what it is. If it wasn’t, we’d all be fearless which in turn would lead to a whole different problem. My fellow animal volunteers find it absolutely hilarious (and perplexing) that I can help with an animal that is falling apart because of a road accident, with blood and guts everywhere... and yet I cannot bring myself to give a small subcutaneous injection under the fur.
One of the first instances that I can remember is being treated at Great Ormond Street Hospital. The nurses took me to a room, and sat me on a chair to take blood. I always remember my mother specifically telling them that I’d need to lay down as I don’t fair very well... The next thing I know I woke up on the floor. Mum says to this day that I’d gone the colour of the floor.. a very pale medical green!
I used to be on the DEPPO injection - which is basically the ladies pill in needle form. Once every three months I’d have to have an injection into my butt.. and every three months I’d have the same argument with the nurse about laying down, every time I won. Once time my ex-husband came with me and the nurse was insistent that I just needed to bend over and relax... so I did to prove my point. Once again, I woke up with both the nurse and my ex trying to lift me up onto the table. I was as still and as solid as a rock. Thankfully, she made a note then and there never to give me any sort of needle without laying down ever again. Point proven!
Now one of the more frightening times was a few years ago here in Egypt. 2017 was not a good year for me - I was gravely ill for months - I had an infection that had spread inside my body and really did quite a bit of permanent damage. One of the side effects of the medication (not that I knew it at the time!) was that it gave me tachycardia. On more than a few occasions I’d felt like I was having a heart attack. My heart rate would zoom up to 200bpm without me even doing anything. I had to pop up to Cairo for a tonne of tests as the Doctor in Gouna had told me I had slight heart failure. At 32, with no pre-existing issues. 😳 Anywho, I digress...
One of the main tests needed was a dye based CT scan. They inject the dye into your wrist and 15 minutes late you’re put under the scanner to check the walls of the heart. The nurse was kind of aggressive with the dye. You’re meant to administer it slowly, but no... she shunted that damn needle into my hand like a pressure hose. Dan managed to walk me back out into the waiting room before I keeled over in front of everyone. Interestingly, I had the most amazing dream whilst I was “out for the count”. It was a cool British Winter’s day and I was snuggled up under the most amazing duvet. I didn’t want to move or get up, yet something kept on trying to pull me out of this amazing feeling. I woke up with a start. I was covered in sweat, I had four nurses holding my arms and legs up, smelling salts under my nose and a very upset Dan standing above me. They moved me to a small room to recover, and fed me apple juice to try and get my sugar levels up. I proceeded to tell Dan about my wonderful dream, and almost how horrible it was to wake up again. He went white as a sheet and asked me not to tell him that ever again. It turns out I’d stopped breathing and had been turning blue for nearly a whole minute after I’d fainted. He’d physically slapped me across my face trying to shock me back into life and genuinely thought that momentarily he’d lost me. I had no clue in my happy little place. Interesting to think that IF that’s the other side, well, I won’t worry so much when it is my time - let’s put it that way. I didn’t tell my parents that story for a good year, purely because I thought they’d freak out. I was right!
Last but not least of these experiences revolves more around Dan in the hospital rather than me! Two years ago he had to experience what I can only call a major operation that NO man would ever voluntarily put themselves through. I will not go into details, but lets just say it left a 8 inch scar in a place that is super uncomfortable even today. Due to the way that hospitals work here ... I became his nurse for weeks, whilst this operation healed. What’s worse is that this operation was open/loose stitched as it needed to be healed from the inside out. (I wont post a picture!). Suffice to say that Nurse Jen was excellent at doing everything except for administering the injections, of which, Dan, the poor soul had to do himself as I found myself going dizzy as soon as I’d mixed the antibiotics to flush into the cannula.
The best part of this story though, was the check up two weeks later. When the Doctor heard what I’d been doing he’d invited me to take a look at what he had to do next, which involved removing and re-stitching said area. (It was fascinating, I love this kind of thing!) However, the doctor did most of it without giving poor Dan an anaesthetic. Half way through, he called for a morphine needle... and that’s where it all went wrong for me. As soon as I saw the needle, the room suddenly went smaller. I excused myself to go out and get some air. I went to the toilet to splash myself with water and next thing you know, I’m on the ground. So, I pick myself back up and take myself outside to sit on the marble steps for air... except I never made the marble steps. Well, I did, kind of. I made them by fainting onto them, knocking myself out and smashing my
glasses. I woke up in the bed right next to Dan. The doctor visited me and couldn’t understand where I’d come from.. once again I’d turned so green he didn’t even recognise me! It was only when I managed to choke out that I was with Dan he realised I was the same girl who’d been helping him in the operation not ten minutes before! Lord knows what people must have thought of us that night. I looked a right mess and was still slightly dizzy and concussed, Dan was high as a kite and we both stood outside of McDonald’s, swaying on our own as we downed a large pack of fries and nuggets purely for some energy.
I’ve had a few hospital experiences since then, fortunately nothing on the same scale as these. The food poisoning and hospital experience that I had last year was so bad that I almost got used to having needles and cannula jabbed into me. I definitely faired better that time...maybe it’ll hold me better stead for next time.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading my adventures with needles. There’s a small tattoo that I would really like to get, yet I still just cannot get over the needle fear, one day... maybe. Until then, no more injections please!
Now, my background covers a lot of medical experiences and training thanks to a varied work life. I’ve seen so many animal accidents, sicknesses, blood and gore you’d think I’d be used to it by now; but no, I’m really not. It all started back when I was young. My father will always deny this; in fact, he calls me silly for it - but he started it. He used to chase me, put his fingers at the back of my knees and middle of arms and shout “injection time”. I used to hate it, and even now, I absolutely hate being touched behind my knees or my arms. It makes me feel quite physically sick.As written about previously, I had major health issues throughout my teenage years. The amount of needles, blood samples, canula fittings I endured must have gone well into the hundreds. All you need is a few bad experiences and BOOM! A phobia is born. Fear is completely stupid, because it’s always completely irrational. But that is exactly what it is. If it wasn’t, we’d all be fearless which in turn would lead to a whole different problem. My fellow animal volunteers find it absolutely hilarious (and perplexing) that I can help with an animal that is falling apart because of a road accident, with blood and guts everywhere... and yet I cannot bring myself to give a small subcutaneous injection under the fur.
One of the first instances that I can remember is being treated at Great Ormond Street Hospital. The nurses took me to a room, and sat me on a chair to take blood. I always remember my mother specifically telling them that I’d need to lay down as I don’t fair very well... The next thing I know I woke up on the floor. Mum says to this day that I’d gone the colour of the floor.. a very pale medical green!
I used to be on the DEPPO injection - which is basically the ladies pill in needle form. Once every three months I’d have to have an injection into my butt.. and every three months I’d have the same argument with the nurse about laying down, every time I won. Once time my ex-husband came with me and the nurse was insistent that I just needed to bend over and relax... so I did to prove my point. Once again, I woke up with both the nurse and my ex trying to lift me up onto the table. I was as still and as solid as a rock. Thankfully, she made a note then and there never to give me any sort of needle without laying down ever again. Point proven!
Now one of the more frightening times was a few years ago here in Egypt. 2017 was not a good year for me - I was gravely ill for months - I had an infection that had spread inside my body and really did quite a bit of permanent damage. One of the side effects of the medication (not that I knew it at the time!) was that it gave me tachycardia. On more than a few occasions I’d felt like I was having a heart attack. My heart rate would zoom up to 200bpm without me even doing anything. I had to pop up to Cairo for a tonne of tests as the Doctor in Gouna had told me I had slight heart failure. At 32, with no pre-existing issues. 😳 Anywho, I digress...
One of the main tests needed was a dye based CT scan. They inject the dye into your wrist and 15 minutes late you’re put under the scanner to check the walls of the heart. The nurse was kind of aggressive with the dye. You’re meant to administer it slowly, but no... she shunted that damn needle into my hand like a pressure hose. Dan managed to walk me back out into the waiting room before I keeled over in front of everyone. Interestingly, I had the most amazing dream whilst I was “out for the count”. It was a cool British Winter’s day and I was snuggled up under the most amazing duvet. I didn’t want to move or get up, yet something kept on trying to pull me out of this amazing feeling. I woke up with a start. I was covered in sweat, I had four nurses holding my arms and legs up, smelling salts under my nose and a very upset Dan standing above me. They moved me to a small room to recover, and fed me apple juice to try and get my sugar levels up. I proceeded to tell Dan about my wonderful dream, and almost how horrible it was to wake up again. He went white as a sheet and asked me not to tell him that ever again. It turns out I’d stopped breathing and had been turning blue for nearly a whole minute after I’d fainted. He’d physically slapped me across my face trying to shock me back into life and genuinely thought that momentarily he’d lost me. I had no clue in my happy little place. Interesting to think that IF that’s the other side, well, I won’t worry so much when it is my time - let’s put it that way. I didn’t tell my parents that story for a good year, purely because I thought they’d freak out. I was right!
Last but not least of these experiences revolves more around Dan in the hospital rather than me! Two years ago he had to experience what I can only call a major operation that NO man would ever voluntarily put themselves through. I will not go into details, but lets just say it left a 8 inch scar in a place that is super uncomfortable even today. Due to the way that hospitals work here ... I became his nurse for weeks, whilst this operation healed. What’s worse is that this operation was open/loose stitched as it needed to be healed from the inside out. (I wont post a picture!). Suffice to say that Nurse Jen was excellent at doing everything except for administering the injections, of which, Dan, the poor soul had to do himself as I found myself going dizzy as soon as I’d mixed the antibiotics to flush into the cannula.
The best part of this story though, was the check up two weeks later. When the Doctor heard what I’d been doing he’d invited me to take a look at what he had to do next, which involved removing and re-stitching said area. (It was fascinating, I love this kind of thing!) However, the doctor did most of it without giving poor Dan an anaesthetic. Half way through, he called for a morphine needle... and that’s where it all went wrong for me. As soon as I saw the needle, the room suddenly went smaller. I excused myself to go out and get some air. I went to the toilet to splash myself with water and next thing you know, I’m on the ground. So, I pick myself back up and take myself outside to sit on the marble steps for air... except I never made the marble steps. Well, I did, kind of. I made them by fainting onto them, knocking myself out and smashing my glasses. I woke up in the bed right next to Dan. The doctor visited me and couldn’t understand where I’d come from.. once again I’d turned so green he didn’t even recognise me! It was only when I managed to choke out that I was with Dan he realised I was the same girl who’d been helping him in the operation not ten minutes before! Lord knows what people must have thought of us that night. I looked a right mess and was still slightly dizzy and concussed, Dan was high as a kite and we both stood outside of McDonald’s, swaying on our own as we downed a large pack of fries and nuggets purely for some energy.
I’ve had a few hospital experiences since then, fortunately nothing on the same scale as these. The food poisoning and hospital experience that I had last year was so bad that I almost got used to having needles and cannula jabbed into me. I definitely faired better that time...maybe it’ll hold me better stead for next time.Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading my adventures with needles. There’s a small tattoo that I would really like to get, yet I still just cannot get over the needle fear, one day... maybe. Until then, no more injections please!
