I am needle phobic. I am not kidding in the least when I say that I freak the fuck out regarding needles, especially if they are coming within any kind of proximity to me. I will cry. I will screech like a small child being beaten within an inch of their life. I will curse. I will threaten. I am a giant baby and I know this.

I refused a flu shot this year because I just could not bring myself to suck it up and deal with the needle. I was willing to pay an enormous amount of money just to get the Flu Mist vaccine rather than deal with the normal flu vaccine. Hell, I was willing to do just about anything to get that mist instead of being stuck by some nurse, wielding a sharp needle, having a bad day after inoculating dozens upon dozens of people who are already sick.

My doctor is usually really good about dealing with my needle phobia. She knows I freak out and was therefore very sweet about making sure I got the mist instead of the needle. She is great about not ordering too much blood work and if there is blood work to be done, she’ll come back to the lab, hold my hand, pat my hair and make sure the phlebot uses a butterfly needle to get the needed blood. Yeah, I know. I’ve got an awesome GP. And yeah, I’m a big freaking baby.

But my wonderful doctor let me down a little today. I was scheduled for an EMG of my right upper leg because I’ve got some serious numbness issues going on. Silly me, I thought it would be like a Doppler study or something akin to that, with radio waves or something to determine the numbness. I was so wrong. So, so very wrong.

I met Dr. Mr. Rogers (he wore a cardigan and cords and talked very slowly and in sing-song manner, for Christ’s sake) at the hospital near my office. He took my information and led me to a small room. He left for a moment after telling me to disrobe from the waist down and to put on the lovely green hospital gown he proffered. I did as I was told, cringing at the realization that half of my toenails had chipped polish, that my feet were sweaty (damned socks) and that shaving to my knee is good enough for the office, but this man was about to see that my upper thighs resembled those of a Yeti.

When he came back in he did some minor reflex testing. He then had me lay back and began hooking up electrodes to various nerve points along my legs. He mentioned that I might feel a small “shock.” My ass! I came up off that bed when he zinged me the first time. I got used to it quickly until he moved one of the electrodes perilously close to my naughty bits. I gave him the serious stink eye and said, “Excuse me, but my right OUTER leg is numb, not my vagina. I’m trying very hard to believe right now that you are not some freak who gets his jollys by inflicting undue pain on unsuspecting women and then billing their insurance for the pleasure, so, um, could you not zap my girlie bits? Thanks!” He didn’t think that was funny and it certainly didn’t break the ice like I was hoping.

After the zap tests (I’m certain there is a more medical terminology that I’m lacking for this test, but there you go), he said, “Well, the hard part is over! Now, I’m just going to put this needle under your skin and into your muscles in a few spots.” What I heard was, “Ha! I am going to jam this incredibly long, painfully sharpened needle under your tender flesh, wiggle it around and then ram it into your muscles over and over as I see fit! And I will enjoy it muchly and in most probability will laugh manically while doing so.”

My response to him was actually something very akin to, “You are out of your mother fucking mind if you think you’re coming near me with that needle, Dr. Mengele. If you do come near me with that needle, you will pull back a bloody stump.” And then I started to weep most piteously.

He was not, apparently, thrilled at my threat of bodily harm nor did he understand that my needle phobia causes me to say truly hateful things but that I’m actually a fairly nice person. He huffed at me to get dressed and he would send what information he had to my doctor. I got dressed, weeping all the way because once a needle is introduced into my world, it takes a considerable amount of time to come down from the adrenalin and cortisol rush due to abject fear. I left and came back to work.

I called my doctor and asked her very sweetly if she knew that an EMG involved needles. She realized very quickly that while she may have known about the needles, she had neglected to tell me about them. She said, “Oh my god. I forgot to warn you about the needles. And I forgot to warn the doctor about you and needles. How much blood was there?” Hee. She’s got a good sense of humor. Much better than Dr. Mr. Rogers, to say the least.