When I was younger, I was terrified of needles. It didn’t matter if I was just getting a simple shot or if I needed a blood draw — to me, such procedures were the end of the world.
At seven, my parents thought I had whooping cough. That meant I had to go to the hospital and get various tests done, including x-rays and a blood draw.
I hated every minute of it. The fact that I could see the container filling with my own blood didn’t help.
I remember looking at that container and thinking, “Wow, a lot of people must have gotten their blood drawn today to fill that container so much!”
(No, seven-year-old me did not realize that nurses don’t mix blood. I’ve learned a lot since then — I promise.)
Anyway, the tests showed that I did indeed have whooping cough.
I spent the entire summer on the couch, feeling sick. It was awful.
I’m not proud to admit that for thirteen years following that visit to the hospital, I didn’t get any bloodwork done. At all.
I avoided it better than rich people avoid taxes.
Until one day, my dentist said, “You know, it’s high time you got those wisdom teeth removed. All four of them need to go.”
Gulp.
That meant only one thing: sedation. IV sedation, to be more precise.
As you can imagine, I was incredibly anxious.
Questions kept running through my head: What if the dentist doesn’t sedate me enough and I wake up too early?
What if he sedates me too much and I never wake up? What if I get a massive infection in my mouth?
I started thinking of all the worst-case scenarios, turning them over in my mind. But in the end, I knew there was no way out.
I needed to grow up and accept what needed to be done. So I did. Here’s what happened.
Facing My Biggest Fear
When I arrived for my appointment, a nurse came in and called my name. It was time. I followed her down a hallway and into the operating room.
The nurse then busied herself attaching me to various monitors — one around my arm, one on my finger, etc. Then she placed an oxygen mask over my head.
All of a sudden, it became real. I was really going to have my wisdom teeth out. Fear or no fear, there was no going back.
The dentist came in then. I was practically lying in the chair, with my right arm extended for the dreaded IV.
Strangely enough, I was calm. I remember little from that moment — it’s a blur to me now. What I do remember, though, is that the dentist placed a tourniquet around my arm and asked me to make a fist.
Thankfully, I could not see what he was doing. And then, I felt it. The “pinch” as he called it — the needle entering my skin.
Within seconds, my eyes closed and everything went black.
For how long, I couldn’t have said. But when I did wake up, one of the first things I remember was that despite a thick protective covering the nurse had put over me, there was blood on my pants. And there was gauze in my mouth.
Lots of gauze.
Being unconscious is strange — anything can happen to you and you have no power to stop it. That’s where trust comes in.
Despite my anxiety, I trusted my dentist to do his job and he did it. Perfectly.
After surgery, he came in to check on me, although I can’t remember what he said. In this foggy state of mind, I was led to a recovery room, where my mother was.
Memory, I am realizing, is a fickle thing — I could have sworn that, when I woke up, the needle was still taped to my arm, attached to a little bottle.
If I’m right, the nurse took it out around this time. I was still so drowsy that I didn’t cringe.
The most important thing was, I had made it through. I had conquered my fear.
The Aftermath
The drive home was uneventful. I wasn’t in pain, which was a relief. But I was numb and swollen. I felt as if someone had replaced the area around my lips with a balloon that was not part of me somehow.
Despite the swelling, I didn’t feel as though I had had four wisdom teeth removed. But I had, and I was proud.
I was proud that despite my fear, I didn’t allow it to stop me from getting the surgery I needed. Despite everything that could have gone wrong, I found the courage to face it.
By going through with that simple operation and conquering my anxiety, (no matter how irrational it was) I proved to myself that I can face anything.
Because I didn’t run from what scared me most, I realized that I was stronger than the voice inside of me that claimed I couldn’t do what I needed to do.
Eleanor Roosevelt said it best:
“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. Do the thing you think you cannot do.”
I faced the thing I dreaded most, and I came out stronger because of it.
Final Thoughts
What does this mean for you? Is there a voice inside that stops you from doing certain things because you’re afraid of the outcome? I guess we all have it.
Maybe your fear isn’t related to needles at all — maybe your greatest fear is telling your best friend that you love him or asking for a raise.
Whatever it is, I hope my experience shows you that if a woman who was once terrified of needles can extend her arm and face what once scared her most, you can face your fears, too.
I believe you can. So don’t listen to your inner voice.
The reality is, you can face anything — no matter how scary it may seem from your perspective. Trust that you will make it through to the other side. You will.
Don’t sell yourself short when you’re afraid. Have faith in your ability to conquer what now seems terrifying. When you do, you’ll become unstoppable.
