Trying In Vein, Part 3

| Annapolis, MD, USA | Working | November 22, 2013

(When I was ten, I needed to get shots for school, as my family had a knowledge of my disdain for needles. This day, though, I was feeling brave.)

Nurse: “Would you like the gas, or can I just inject you while you’re awake?”

Me: “I’ll take the needle.”

Nurse & My Mom: “Good job!”

(The nurse takes her first move towards me, and I have my arm as still as I can manage it.)

Nurse: “Alright, just one clean stab and you should be good to—drat, missed the vein. Alright, second try—nope, third time’s the charm? No—how about the fourth time?”

(At this point my arm has become a pin cushion. I start crying aloud, and I cut her off before she can make the fifth attempt. There has been a solid break of about a minute while she repositions each time, and after the first time, which I presume I flinched on, she has been holding my arm rather tightly.)

Me: “Maybe we should switch to the gas?”

Nurse: “Okay. What flavor?”

Me: “Root Beer…”

(I wake up an hour and a half later. I was informed it took 21 attempts for her to get the needle in correctly by my mom!)

 

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