Trypanophobia is the fear of needles.
About 20 percent of humans are needle-phobic. Being afraid
of needles is actually a beneficial evolutionary trait. Thousands of years ago, the early
humans learned that they had a greater chance for survival if they avoided stab
wounds or punctures. If these humans fainted upon seeing a tool that could result in
pierced flesh, they signaled that they were not a threat. Passing out when seeing something sharp and pointy allowed them to survive, thereby producing the next generation of fainting humans.
Needles can be someone’s downfall. Tough guy rocker Alice
Cooper says that the only thing he is scared of is a needle. He explains, “I
can put my head in a guillotine and play with a snake. But no needles!” In Game
of Thrones, young Arya is given a sword that her brother Jon had made for her. Jon
tells her that all the best swords have names. After being coached to stick her
enemies with the pointy end, she names her sword Needle.
Fear of needles is actually in our blood, so to speak. Deep in our reptilian brains, we recognize needles as a threat. I
have never really been afraid of needles. It’s a good thing too, because
needles are now significant objects in my daily (or at least weekly) life.
It’s not fun giving myself the Avonex. I don’t yearn to get
home so I can dose myself with interferon beta. I can play connect the dots
with the bruises on my thighs at my injection sites.
The first month I took Avonex, I used a pre-filled syringe.
Now I use the auto-injector pen, similar to the Epipen carried by people with
severe allergies. The needle in the auto-injector is much smaller than the
needle of the pre-filled version. And you cover the needle with part of the pen
before you place it on your leg and push the button. Done and done.
But the syringe… I can’t tell you the high amount of
intestinal fortitude I need to push that needle I am holding through my own
skin. I am not afraid of needles. I’ve been inoculated, epidural-ed, pierced,
and tattooed. I’ve given blood, where they stick a needle the size of a Capri
Sun straw into your arm. I’ve gotten IVs. I’ve had a catheter in my arm for a
week when I was receiving daily infusions.
I’m not afraid of needles. But holding a syringe in your own
hand, piercing your own skin, pushing the plunger to administer the medicine
with your own thumb... It’s hard to do. Even now--while I have transitioned to the Avonex auto-pen--I still
have to stick myself with an old-school syringe when I give myself my B-12 shot.
As much as I hate those needles loaded with medicine, I
love, love the needles loaded with ink. I love my tattoos. I love getting
tattooed. I love the day after getting the tattoo, when the colors are so bold.
I love the healing process, where the fresh ink sheds its scab and
emerges like a butterfly from the cocoon.
I really want another tattoo. I am trying to figure out how
to break it to my dad. My current strategy is to talk him into going with me to
get one of his own. I am not completely confident in this strategy. Maybe I
should start working on my mom.
Isn’t it funny how the simple needle can generate so much
fear, deliver so much health, create so much beauty. How many things in this
world can we say that about?
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