The HSP Prescription: Take one daily for relief and renewal.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\nGetting shots has never been my idea of fun.<\/p>\n
The past<\/h2>\n
When I was a little kid, my mother took us to a pediatrician named Dr. Glazer. Dr. Glazer was a brusque, no-nonsense kind of man. I assume he liked kids, being a kid doctor and all, but I was always sort of nervous around him. Sure, I only saw him for things like vaccines or when I was sick, but I never felt a bunch of warm fuzzies from the good doctor. Like I said, he was all business.<\/p>\n
Case in point.<\/p>\n
By the time came for the shot in the arm, I was already crying. Dr. Glazer and my mom muttered a few \u201cCome on, now, it\u2019s not that bad\u201d and \u201cIt\u2019ll be over before you know it\u201d to placate me, but then things took a turn. Dr. Glazer, with a needle that seemed as long as his arm and raised above his head, would wheel his way from the counter to the examining table.\u00a0 When he reached my side and took hold of my arm, my heart beat so fast I\u2019d feel faint. And this is when he\u2019d say, \u201cI\u2019m going to give you a little jab now, but you tell me when to stop, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
A couple of seconds later, my eyes closed, I\u2019d be crying, \u201cStop\u2026stop, please stop\u201d to see he had already removed the needle and was readying my arm to receive a Barbie Band-Aid and a lollipop. (It\u2019s not like he was a dentist or anything. Although now, looking back on it, I sort of think doctors and dentists might be in cahoots like that.)<\/p>\n
Anyway, the point is that there were several seconds\u2014very, very long seconds\u2014where I was sure that needle was still in my arm and panicking. Talk about trauma.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m willing to concede that Dr. Glazer probably used this little trick on all his small patients. And maybe it worked wonder with some of us with a fear of needles, though I don\u2019t see how. I also understand how reverse psychology can work the same kind of wonder with some behavior trends. Again, though, not so much with me.<\/p>\n
Why?<\/em><\/p>\n\n- Fear of the unknown.<\/li>\n
- Fear of the known.<\/li>\n
- Fear of the pain.<\/li>\n
- Fear there might be pain.<\/li>\n
- Fear that something that is sure to be painful will last a lot longer than you\u2019ll be able to handle.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n
Need I go on?<\/em><\/p>\nThe present<\/h2>\n
Today, being of a certain age, and having received quite a few shots in my time, I was not especially looking forward to the two vaccines I needed. In fact, as soon as I sat down in the chair and the technician started preparing her paraphernalia (I don\u2019t even like saying the word \u201cneedle\u201d), I closed my eyes and thought, Sometimes I wish I weren\u2019t so darn sensitive.<\/em><\/p>\nThe event<\/h2>\n
But then . . . <\/em><\/p>\nGuess what happened? I kind of Zenned out. I pulled in my little Psychic Octopus and told myself it would be over in seconds and I\u2019d forget all about it. That I was grateful for the ability to receive the shot. That whatever it was in the shot would keep me healthy and that I was accepting it willingly and with loving intention.<\/p>\n
And by the time I\u2019d completed my little ritual of gratitude and self-awareness, the ordeal–the shot–really was<\/em> over and the technician was placing a bright red Band-Aid on my arm. (No, no Barbie Band-Aids this time\u2014which is fine because I\u2019d never played with Barbie dolls anyway. I did note the box of min-Tootsie Roll Pops in the corner, but stifled my feeling of deservedness post-shot.)<\/p>\n