My Fear Of Getting A Shot

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My Fear of Getting a Shot
Picture this: a small, but extremely angry red-faced three-year-old screaming and crying as her mother carries her out of the doctor’s office. Her mother picks up a sticker from the bucket and offers it to the little girl, who normally loves stickers. The angry child keeps screaming and crying as she throws the sticker to the ground. Can you guess what I am describing? It is one of my first encounters with getting a shot.
Ever since I was really little, I have had a fear of getting a shot. I can’t say exactly why I had this fear. Yes, it hurts to get a shot, but only a little. It isn’t the pain of getting a shot that scared me. I think my fear was partially caused by my instinct for self-preservation; willingly allowing something to break the skin is somehow unbearably unnatural. I am fine if I get a cut accidentally; I once got bitten by a non-venomous snake while trying to catch it, (it’s actually really fun catching snakes) and I didn’t even care. It is the self-mutilation that repulses me so much. The other part of the cause of my fear is that something is being injected into me; yes, I know it is medicine, but I still have an irrational fear that it is unhealthy to have under my skin.
I do not remember the shots I got when I was a baby, but my mom does. She says that when I had to get a shot, I would throw an enormous tantrum; screaming, crying, and flailing around. My pink shirt’s lettering, “Cute as a button!” would no longer describe me; how about “NOOO!!! You will never take me alive!!!”? I don’t think they make baby shirts like that, however. My mom would work together with a nurse to hold me mostly still, though my little red face still screamed and cried, as the doctor gave me the hated shot. ...

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... to wait there for half an hour, with tears on my cheeks, so that they could come and see which spots had gotten itchy and inflamed. And that is how I found out that after all that I WAS NOT ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING!!!
I continued to cringe every time I got a shot for years; the day I overcame my fear of shots was when I was 11 years old. I was at my grandmother’s house and I tripped and cut my head open. I had a small cut on my eyebrow, about half an inch long, and blood running down my face. My grandfather drove me to the emergency room, where I was told that I needed stitches. The doctor came in with a shot to numb my cut before he sewed it up. At that moment, I told myself “You are tough. This isn’t that awful. You will be fine.” And I got that shot and four stitches without a single protest. I was very proud of myself, and I am not afraid of getting a shot anymore.

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