Irrational Fears, and by Irrational I Mean COMPLETELY RATIONAL!!!

Let me explain my fears. Needles. That's pretty much all of them. Syringes specifically.

I also really despise hospitals in general.

I have a reoccurring nightmare where I'm trapped in a hospital and there is a serial killer trying to find me, and the lights go out. I am trying to hide while all of my friends are being strategically picked off. I'm alone and I go into a room where I hear noises in the closet. It's pitch black and the noises get closer. I run outside and the hallways are filled with zombies.

Okay, zombies make it to the list of fears.

Back to needles. 

When I was in sixth grade I learned mental toughness. I remember distinctly when I was getting stitches in the side of my head. Don't ask. As I was riding in the car to go to the doctor I thought about pain. I realized that pain is just a stimulus given to the brain. It's nothing more than receiving annoying emails, or updates about how your body is doing. Pain is all in the mind I thought. As I got my stitches I was completely calm. Since that point in time I have learned to separate myself from pain. This is, of course, to an extent.

That being said I am a baby when it comes to shots. They  really don't even hurt. It's comical how I will tense up and be terrified to get a little flu shot. I've gotten shots before where I'm so worried about the shot that I will begin sweating. I will turn away from the needle and prepare for the worst. Only to be informed that the nurse already gave it to me. The fear of needles is all in the mind. So much for my mental toughness.

Fear are often associated with bad experiences. There is a quote by Jack Handy.  "To me, clowns aren't funny. In fact, they're kind of scary. I've wondered where this started and I think it goes back to the time I went to the circus, and a clown killed my dad."

There have been experiments where heartless scientists lined a group of children up to give them the seasonal flu shots. All the kids go in with their parents. As the first kids go through it is a simple procedure. The child is unsure about the shot but will take it anyway. As time goes on there will be one child who whines a little, followed by one who cries a little, followed by one who tugs and pulls away. By the time the last children are getting their shots they are bawling and struggling. They try with all their might to break free, but they never do. The children have learned to fear the shot based on the reaction of the children before them. On a side note, can you believe that this was happening in America? We talk of preventing child abuse then impale with syringes them anyway. Let the kids just be sick. Being sick was one of the greatest things that could happen during the school year. Drink sprite and watch movies in pajamas all day long. It couldn't get better.

So what was my bad experience with needles? Let me tell you.

I burst a blood vessel in my knee in 8th grade. I played football. There's something comical about a bunch of midgets running about in pads, trying to push each other over. I'm surprised this isn't on TV on a national level. It might rekindle my love of sports. I was playing against a bunch of kids who were already hitting puberty. Let me show you what it was like.

I'm the one on the left. Notice how I'm classier. Also understand I will look like the one on the right when I return from my mission. Mark my words I will have the same mustache...I will also have larger traps.

There we go. 

Back to point. I was playing football with these pubescent giants when I went for a tackle. Do remember that I am still mentally tough. I tackled this colossus among 8th graders and bonked my knee on the way down. That's part one of the story. 

Part two begins as I was goofing around with my friends at Birk Gundersen's house. We decided to play football in his backyard. Tackle, of course. As I went to tackle Birk, who was also endowed with testosterone that exceeded my own, I bonked my knee in the same place. For real? I soon noticed that my left knee was twice as large as it should be. No joke, it was as if a baseball were strapped to my knee. To spare you mental trauma I will forget to include a picture.

It didn't hurt at all, mental toughness, so I rejoined my family later that day and began going about my usual schedule. My family decided to treat us to Smart Cookie after dinner. As I went to Smart Cookie I could feel my knee beginning to hurt. As I began to eat my chocolate chip cookie the pain climaxed and I was driven directly to the hospital. To keep me from walking around I was given a wheelchair. It was a one size fits all wheelchair made for pregnant woman. I couldn't pop any wheelies, or else I totally would have! I sat around for about an infinity years until my problem was deemed worthy of their time. I was pushed down to a public room divided by a curtain. I think the person next to me was getting a cast removed because I heard a saw blaring in the next room. Nothing is quite so comforting. I also saw a guy being pushed down the hallway on a gurney as blood poured out of where his toe should have been.

Again my problem was not a priority and I waited. I soon had to go to the bathroom and so I was pushed to a wheelchair accessible restroom. For the fist and only time in my life I actually had to use the handicap bathroom. Calling upon the powers of chimpanzees I hoisted myself out of the wheelchair and onto the toilet seat. I think that handicapped people must have practice because it took me a few tries. As I returned to my public half-room I was informed that a nurse came while I was gone, so now I had to wait for her to return. Finally the nurse came back and began asking questions. "What happened?" "Rate your pain?" "Are you okay?" She then wheeled me down to an x-ray. I laid on the cold hard table as my knee was contorted into the angles that would result in a better picture. "Can you bend your knee this way?" "No, no I can't." Injured knees just aren't that photogenic. I was wheeled back to my room and laid down only to resume the waiting process. This is why I hate hospitals. I also hate how cold and open it is, how I'm surrounded by all sorts of chrome tools, and how the walls and bedding are all an eerie off-white color.

I waited almost into oblivion when finally in comes a doctor to inform me that I had no broken bones and I had a burst blood vessel. "Thank you," I responded. He explained that it needed to be drained of excess blood. "No thank you," I responded. He left to prepare for operation. I waited. I think part of the point of hospitals is that you must convince yourself to get better or else you will spend the rest of your life waiting.

He returned wielding 2 giant syringes. I prepared for the worst. It was worse than that.

In order to numb the knee he pumped more liquid into my already maxed out knee. I could feel the knee inflating. He then carefully gored my inhuman knee with syringe #2. I felt the needle enter. The doctor then moved the needle back and forth while in my knee. I could feel the cold needle scraping against the bare kneecap. Instead of just drawing blood the doctor kept moving back and forth as blood began pouring out against the edges of the needles. The blood stained the bed. Red on pistachio. The doctor would draw a bit of blood and then shoot it back in. Two steps forward one step back. A whole two minutes later the needle was withdrawn. I was just about going to pass out. The doctor looked at how pale I was and offered me a sprite. I declined. It just wasn't one of those sick days. 

It's important to note that the knee was still about two sizes too large. I was also given a leg brace that prevented my knee from bending. I hobbled around for 3 days afterwards like a cripple. I missed out on a few days of football. A week later the swelling was gone. I still have a scar on my knee from the needle, and the mental scars have never gone away.

So now you can understand why I don't plan to ever donate blood.