Wasted Hours, Arcade Fire

I've never been a fan of needles. "Oh, really," you say sarcastically as you eye the holes in my ears and the hole in my nose (one in my nose, four between my ears). I say those are different. "Oh, really," you say, as you wonder how a shot and a piercing are really so different.

Well, here, let me explain to you, my friend. The holes in my face go through the skin. You can see one end to the other. For some reason, that's easier for me to comprehend. But a needle, going through skin without coming out the other side is terrifying. Not the pain. It's not being able to see the other side. And when you can't see it come out the other side, I become paranoid that the needle will break off in my body. (When I explained this fear to some friends, most scoffed, until my friend - an EMT - says: "No, that's totally legitimate. It can totally happen!" In other words, my friends are assholes. Complete and utter assholes.)

I've had shots. Lots of shots. Some "voluntary", some "necessary". For work, for school, for everything. I've even given shots to other people. Big shots, little shots. Red fish, blue fish, one fish, two fish.

So one would think, that by a certain point in time, the fear ("trepidation") would go away. Well, no luck there. I'm still uneasy by shots. Today, in a big step toward being prepared for the Peace Corps, I had to go in for my Yellow Fever vaccination. Here's a hint: the shot won.

Every time I give blood, get an IV, a shot or anything that requires a needle entering, but not exiting the other side, I always warn the doctor, nurse, practitioner, intern, med student, etc.: "I do not like needles. I have small veins. I've passed out before. I do not like needles." (I neglect to mention the time I moved the nurse's hand, walked out of the room and realized what had happened only afterward. Or the time that I pushed the nurse away.) They usually understand and take precautionary measures. Like today. She gave me the shot as I laid on my back with my feet up. I stayed like that (dear God, that was a huge needle!) for a few minutes afterward, deep breathing and not hyperventilating. When I felt alright, I sat up, waited, then stood up. Upon standing, the nurse said to me, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I responded. Apparently I was swaying. She helped me sit down.

"You sit here for another minute, sweetie." Isn't it weird how sometimes being called sweetie is totally patronizing, but other times, it's just what you need?

I sat there for another minute, or about as long as my embarrassment could take, and I got up and stumbled out. It was ok, I wasn't driving.

Then I sent a text message to a friend that made me look like I was drunk. Then I sent him another one, commenting on my gratefulness that I don't actually drunk text.

Then I passed out for a few hours, curled in a ball and shaking. When I woke up, I ran a slight fever (enough to make me feel abnormal, but not enough to cause concern). And my parents made fun of me. The shot won.

Days later, I noticed a bruise the size of a fist on my arm. Confused, I texted or called friends to find the culprit. That's always a funny conversation to have: "Hey, I have a bruise on my arm, do you have anything to do with it?" "Uh, no probably not. Wait. Did I get belligerent that night?" "Not that I remember. I don't think so." "OK, probably not me then." "Cool, I'm blaming you anyway."

Turns out, the Yellow Fever Vaccine had struck again. Final score: Yellow Fever Vaccine: 2, Annie: 42. I'm not getting yellow fever.