needles

This morning I had a blood test taken - the first I've had for a while. As usual the experience left me feeling totally pathetic, ashamed that I leave the surgery shaking, dizzy, and cannot even contemplate removing the little piece of cotton wool for a good 12 hours after the event. I am absolutely terrified of needles. I have convinced myself this is all down to a bad childhood experience, when a doctor couldn't find the vein in my arm, but searched for it in vain for what felt like an eternity. Later on as a teenager I had another test done, anxiously waiting for the nurse to remove the needle, and flooding with relief when she did so. She smiled at me kindly. I'm sorry, she said. I couldn't find the vein in that arm, I'm going to have another go with your other one.

I had a holiday nightmare last summer in Greece when I picked up an infection on the beach. I was driven to hospital at 11pm by my fiance's (Greek) family. They took a blood test from a vein in my forearm. I felt the needle go in. Then the nurse started fiddling around with something. What are they doing, I asked Chris, who was holding my hand. I don't know, he said. Moments later I was horrified to find myself attached to a drip. With the trauma of suddenly finding a needle permanently wedged in my arm, I sat up too quickly and nearly fainted. The doctors used this as an excuse to keep me in under observation for two nights and put me on a water based diet (this turned out to mean a bowl of rice/noodles left in the water they were cooked in, with a dash of oil, and lemon if you were lucky). My infection had cleared up as soon as they administered some antibiotics. After the second night, if I had been able to speak Greek, I would have pointed out that the only thing making me unwell was having been on a drip and eating nothing but gloop for two days. Fortunately my father-in-law took matters in hand and asked them to discharge me. Most people with the condition I had are sent home immediately with a few antibiotics. Enough said!