Needles scare the hell out of so many people that it has a name: trypanophobia, a fear of needles in a medical setting. File picture: Pixabay
Durban — Millions of people do it millions of times day and night, so how hard could it be?
Turns out to be pretty damn terrifying; indeed, traumatising.
Needles scare the hell out of so many people that it has a name: trypanophobia, a fear of needles in a medical setting.
It’s one of the reasons I never worried that my child would try heavy-duty injectable drugs; him losing all coherence at just the thought of a needle piercing his skin. There was much drama, resistance, sweating and scrunched-up eyes when there was absolutely no other option for him to take his medicine.
The general advice about overcoming phobias is to confront them.
For years I had terrible nightmares about heaps of writhing snakes in my bed, bath or across a space that I absolutely had to cross for whatever nightmarish reason. One particularly memorable one was me putting bath salts into my bath and every granule turning into a deadly fanged creature.
On hiking trips, I knew they were lurking along the trail, just waiting for their chance to strike. Once I started learning about them, eventually building up to keeping two (non-venomous) pets called Curly and Fluffy, handling them and even being bitten (my own fault), no more phobia. Just a very healthy respect.
Same with injections: although mine wasn’t a full-blown phobia, any other option was considered before a needle.
When it did happen, I watched every stab (if it wasn’t a bum shot) or blood draw like an eagle. Thousands of them. I know what they look like. The anticipation was worse than the event, except perhaps for the lumbar punctures – those hurt like a bitch.
So one might think it would be simple to take on the role of injector. Not so much.
Human residents at the couch address are living in terror at the prospect of DIY fluff injections. Our Beloved Vet (OBV) is unable to administer some regular but essential jabs to the floofs in a home visit.
Even during the mobile, cardriving days, there were issues which needed all hands on deck.
Three of the five rescues turn from Our Best Friends into T-Rexes the minute they see a collar or leash. Thankfully, Big Daddy Zeus, whom no one is able to pick up and carry, and the feisty little terrier Belly loved nothing more than “road trips” even if they were to the vet. As I said, the OBV is always kind, gentle and patient.
But now everything is delivered or ubered and none of the hounds are going to bolt into a car driven by anyone else, even if we could find an ehailing driver brave enough to help deliver them.
So the only other option is that we do the injecting ourselves. Nothing can describe the fear hovering over the house humans.
We will soon have an auction for any number of water-filled oranges as we practise. We have started getting the dogs used to having a handful of muscle scrunched up at the base of their heads and for us to feel how to hold that muscle.
It’s going to take military planning and precision to get all five done without the others catching on that something’s going down – these dudes are really smart and perceptive.
I’m sure that, as with all scary things, the anticipation is worse than the actual “operation” will be.
The experience adds to the gratitude list: an enormous appreciation for those millions of people who handle trypanophobic patients, human or animal, with patience, calm and aplomb as they stab them.
Needles at the ready…
Independent on Saturday