Going through some pictures and I noticed something.

I've got a bunch of Calvins for nephews.

I'm a big girl.

Except for when it comes to shots or anything needle-esk. I've spent the past 15 years avoiding needles quite successfully. I've never taken anybody up on a flu shot, never donated blood, only had to have my blood drawn once about 8 years ago, and only had to have an IV once, also about 8 years ago, and I was in a bit of a state of delirium at that time, so it hardly even phased me that I had a permanent needle stuck in my hand. Aside from these times few and far between, I run at the site of any needle. I can't really explain this irrational fear. It's not like it hurts that bad. I'm tough enough to handle the bit of a sting they cause, but they just give me the heebie-jeebies. The only explanation I can give is that I'm afraid of needles like people are afraid of spiders. They're just...scary.

Since I'm a supposed grown up now, and I'm supposed to be doing grown up things like starting internships and working with a real clientele, I'm also supposed to have grown up immunizations in which I failed to get as a wee child. I warn all the people of the world now, that hepatitis shot, it'll catch ya if you don't watch out, but I figured since I'm a big girl, I can do big girl things, and I could handle a simple shot. No problemo.

Turns out? I was kidding myself. When it came right down to it, I experienced something of strange palpitations and awkward heart arrhythmia's, and I concluded I was quite nervous. My roommate, Aimee insisted on accompanying me, and frankly, I was quite relieved. The drive there involved wrong turns, wrongly remembered addresses, a couple panic attacks, and several attempts at chickening out. The talk with the receptionist involved her trying to trick me into getting more shots than I agreed to, and a large chunk of money out of my bank account for an experience I wanted nothing to do with to begin with. The walk into the needle room involved Aimee trying to tell me I will be fine, the nurse telling me she wasn't really a nurse (Great confidence booster), but that I could look at the cartoon pictures on the wall for a distraction (like that's going to make her more of a nurse?), and then ensuing some story about the San Diego aquarium and sharks and then *pop*, the sound of the needle opening, and that's about as far as I got with her story. Something involving Aimee noticing the sudden stricken look on my face along with the disappearance of color, and the extreme tension in my muscles as the needle and my skin were being prepped. Something about Aimee's voice saying, "Just relax. It's okay. Don't look at the needle! Just look at me."

Focus on Aimee. Can't take the suspenseful anticipation. It's coming any second. Focus on Aimee. "Nurse's" rambling story in the background. Ouch! Prick in the skin. Don't think about it! Don't think about it. Find a happy place. Oh my gosh there's a needle in my skin. Stop! You're thinking about it! Focus on Aimee. Will this ever end? Just breath. Breathing away. That's what I'm doing. Breathing in and out. Wait. Pretty sure "nurse" just asked me a question. Uuuuh, wasn't listening to a word she said. She smiled sympathetically and something involving I was done, and wasn't that harmless? Ha. Jokes.

The aftermath involved a bit of trauma, lingering soreness in the arm, an ice cream bar from Aimee for being so brave, a long nap in recovery, and several glances down at the Tweety-bird band aid covering what I swore was the gaping wound left behind. Some may argue I resembled something of a toddler showing off a 3 week old owie to anybody who will stand still long enough. They lie. Don't listen to them.

Nope, still don't do shots. It's not something I do. This time I don't have 15 years to recuperate. I've got a month. Jokes, so many jokes.