wimpy, wimpy.

I am the biggest wuss there is in the whole planet. I am almost three decades old and I still haven’t overcome the fear of needles.

Last Monday, we went to the clinic and had blood drawn from me for laboratory tests. I was dreading about it the whole week before. I had to hold to hold the hubby’s hand the whole time and winced as I felt the needle pierced. It was good-sized needle, the hubby said. I didn’t dare look at it, because I know I’d die! David had a ball telling my mom how I “almost” fainted while the blood was taken. Of course, I won’t admit I was about to faint. I got really pale, I was sure. I dabbed red tint on my lips before we went to the clinic, so as not to embarrass myself when color drains from my lips.

I had squeezed the hubby’s hand too hard when the second needle pricked for another test. He said it hurt, but he was more amused by the funny look on my face. Again, on Wednesday, my ordeal was far from over for we had to go back for a couple of shots. A couple of shots on my left arm were like a couple of my toenails were pulled out. Or something like that. I told you, I am wimpy.

Even if all people say it’s just feels like an ant bite, it still seriously hurts. And I know where does this spiel lead. I know I haven’t gotten into the “real”, “major” pain in my life yet. But I’ll cross the bridge when I get there. Meantime, feeling beaten by the needle shots, I guess I just have to dust myself off and say, I survived. Until the next shot.