A Freudian moment!

 

Remember when you went to the Hospital as a child? It would be a very pleasant event. You didn’t like the injection you were going to get but, at the very least, you weighed the risks versus the rewards.

The risk being a very nice lady in white – or in colour depending on where you live – would come up to you, speak with you in a soothing voice  and offer you a sweet of some sort. She would proceed to entertain you so as to take your focus away from the fact she was about to poke you in the arm with a three-inch needle.

For the most part she would succeed and you would only suffer  a minor discomfort from the ordeal.

The reward  was probably another sweet and a balloon after she was finished. At which point Mom or Dad would take you to your favourite fast food restaurant.

All in all,  it would have been a very productive day.

As you grow older..this began to take on new meanings.

For some reason as you got older. you stopped being able to get injections in the arm.
I am not sure what changes happened in the human body past the age of 10, that Doctors and Nurses are able to discern. That they deem an injection in the arm to be an ineffectual process.

Furthermore, you no longer got a sweet. Ideally, you wouldn’t want one anyway. Grown ups do not accept sweets as gifts after a Doctors visit. That would be quite the Faux Pas.

Granted, you may have already take some sweets from the desk of the receptionist on your way in. But, in your mind that was not a reward. That was your right.

Doctors appointments aren’t cheap after all. And you would be hell-bent on milking it for all you can.,

 

It is safe to say I am a little anal sometimes, when it comes to germs.

Let me share an anecdote:

Whenever I touch something dirty. I need to wash my hands immediately.

If I do not, they start to itch. If I do not wash them after they start to itch. Then they start to get swollen and red, to the point where I can barely curl my fingers.

I was at work, I touched something. I felt my hands start to Itch. By this time it is standard procedure to wash my hands immediately.

Unfortunately, that day I was out of the special anti bacterial soap I use for this task.
Not to be deterred, I found some soap and washed my hands.

Surprisingly, the itch did not go away, it just became mild. When I got home I showered immediately. I felt I was in the clear.

Only to wake up with hands that felt like I had covered them with honey and dipped them into a nest of emaciated ants. Now, instead of being planar, my hands had a distinctly rotund disposition.

To be succinct, I had to rush to the hospital and go to emergency.

My hands were rebelling, they were on the verge of a nuclear fallout with plasma and platelets.
This is where things go awry.

If you remember how I started this post. You can see where this is going.

I was informed by the Nurse  – in blue – that I need to get an injection.

I am no stranger to injections. So I went into the room and sat on the chair with my sleeve rolled up.

The Nurse came in, looked at me, then told me to drop my pants.

At this stage, my brain has started to produce so much adrenalin I am about to go into fight or flight mode. And since my hands were in dire straits, I was heavily predisposed to the latter.
Needless to say, I ended up with palms flat on a counter top, knees slightly splayed, my Jeans near or around my knees and a needle stuck in my left check.

There is a reason you relax your arm before an injection.

While the pain is only ephemeral. Getting an injection in a muscle that is tense from terror. Is not a walk in the park.
What is the point? Why am I writing this?

If you need to ask, clearly you have never gotten an  injection in the derriere.

And I hope after reading this post, you don’t plan to do so.  ^_^

PS. I am not Trypanophobic. I would just prefer it in the arm.
Ciao!!

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