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Dane Allred's World of Hurt
Needlephobia
I am a baby when it comes to needles. I try to convince people I have an actual phobia by explaining how much longer it took for me to give blood than my bride to be. But my sister is the needle master. She has had a liver transplant, but the strangest thing she had to endure was a weekly gamma globulin shot when she was young. Her white blood cells were low, and she had to get this peanut butter thick shot every week.
This is where my fear of needles begins. When she would get the shot, I was usually in the waiting room listening to her scream. I was in the waiting room because I only got to see the needle once, and I must have looked like I was going to pass out, because I never saw her get another shot. But seeing that one shot was enough.
Imagine a turkey baster miniaturized. That's what the hypodermic and the needle looked like to an impressionable young boy. Then, after you’ve filled it with peanut butter, try to imagine getting that thick glop through the needle and into the skin of the victim, I mean, patient. It resides just under the skin as a huge bump of medicine waiting to be absorbed by the body. I have never had one and hope I never will. Anyone I have talked to about gamma globulin shots tells me it is one of the most painful shots you can get.
To make matters worse, now that I have this mental image of the torture device firmly etched into my feeble brain, I get to sit out in the waiting room and imagine what is going on in the next room. And I have a good imagination.
Each week, as she endured the torture of the shot, the needle got bigger and bigger in my mind. The concoction got thicker and thicker, until you have the quivering mass of flesh I am today with a genuine phobia of needles. The doctor knows better than to let me see the needle, and so does the dentist. They discreetly hide it, hoping the big baby sitting in their office won't faint dead away.
Another needle incident happened when I was probably nine or ten, and an incredibly painful sore appeared on my side next to my right hip. Technically it was high on my hip, but it would be correct to state that I had boil on my butt. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone for several days. I just thought I had stabbed myself with wire or something.
A boil is an accumulation of infection, pus and other impurities your body is trying to expel. This time it just happened to be my butt that my body chose as the site of the expulsion, but it could have been worse.
But (!) I finally had to tell my mom, and actually show her part of my butt. I was humiliated, and I think she could tell, since she sent Dad to the rescue.
What happens with all of these impurities your body wants out is that they accrete just below the skin in a painful mass that resembles a giant pimple. Some of the mass was hard and felt solid, but mostly the stuff crowded into this small space and pressed for escape. The pressure built and the pain increased as we all wondered what to do.
Dad tried squeezing it like a pimple, but that just made things worse - it hurt even more and didn't want to pop.
So of course, the only thing to do was to lance it. This will be my Dad's answer to a painful toenail later also. I have already detailed my fear of needles, but to watch my own father put a sewing needle into a hot flame just before he intends to stab it into me sent my heart racing so fast I'm surprised I didn't have a heart attack.
Now that the needle was sterilized by the flame, and also red hot, Dad decided it was time to take care of business. He lanced the boil without further ado, and squeezed all of the contents out with a large amount of blood. This is what I call true love. Until you have had a boil lanced by a parent you may question their sacrifice for you. After lancing a boil, there is no other demonstration necessary.
It immediately began to feel better, and I still have a small scar from the operation, it was one of Dr. Allred's many successes. He later branched out into giving shots to calves and horses, and I was happy to be spared the pain.
I know it’s silly, but just don’t let me see the needle.
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