Lydia & Julz Go Large Week 31

Week Update 31 

Julia and I have had our travel injections for our trip to South America, after many discussions on getting the absolute bare minimum vaccinations required, now isn't the time to be a hero. Julz had to discreetly book our injections, as this really needed to be done without my knowledge to avoid a complete melt down for an entire week or so. You can imagine my delight, on receiving a call from Julia asking me to get up, as I have a doctor's appointment in an hour. 

Julia naturally goes first, taking one for the team. Julia's fear is just limited to a few "Oooooo's" and a few "Aaahhhaas". She has made peace with the fear of needles around the time she discovered my hyperventilating fear of needles. Much like my fear of spiders, it pushes the responsibility on Julia to man up in these instances as I'm clearly useless!

Julia had to sit in the chair and watch the doctor load up the syringe and plunge it into her arm. This is another instance, testimonial to Julia's sweet nature, as all she was thinking about was how it was going to affect me. 

Then it's my turn, my eyes start immediately welling up at the mere thought of getting an injection, I break out into an attractive sweat. I know that there are many of us that harbour the fear of needles. This fear is real, damn it. Julia down played the injections, much like she removes spiders without my knowledge. Reminiscent of the inconveniences of making her a coffee in the middle of One Tree Hill as a ploy to get me out of the room to dispose of spiders that have been inches away from me. Eek!

I have extreme anxiety around syringes to the point where I can barely watch shows like ER, and I disturb other people in doctors' surgeries when they see a a grown woman crying into her hands.  I was anxiously waiting in the waiting room, short of breath as the receptionist thought it would be comforting to tell me her horror stories of needles when she'd chipped a tooth, with the reassurance of "Well, at least that's not happening to you." My coping mechanism, to sound like I'm come straight out of a self help book is by owning my fear by making it known to an audience of complete strangers, that "Yes, I might cry!"Oh God! I wish I had  taken a few moments to compose myself in the bathroom, because I looked like a complete idiot crying in the waiting room with mascara running down to my chin. I sat there brooding about what was to come....then the doctor calls my name out in a deceiving tone, as if 'No, I'm not going to stab you in the arm, minutes from now,' I'm sure on some level my sheer panic was comforting to her, much like beauty therapists sense of fulfillment when they're waxing- it's people with these sadistic natures that really excel in these professions. Bastards. 

The doctor layed me on the table out of fear that I would faint after my Broadway production in the waiting room. She asked me to close my eyes, look away from the needle. Breath. In. Out. In. Out...and as regularly as I can make it happen. I made a concerted effort to think about something else, take me to a happy place, channeling my tension through pep talks in my head, "Yep, you can do it Lydia, you've got this, you're the man!," I was a regular old chatty Cathy in my head. Then the doctor tried distracting me with asking whether I had a dog. Then I found myself talking absolute crap of how I own a dog, I'm not sure how that flew out of my mouth, I've never really owned a dog. Before I knew it, it was all done and the talk of my imaginary pet Fluffy pulled me through. 

The doctor was so encouraging though, I've never heard the phrase "You were so brave!" so much in my life. I nearly rolled over, played dead and offered a paw out of good measure. I was then rewarded with a jelly bean for being such a brave girl, although a jelly bean can only console you for so long, and it hardly makes up for terrorizing me with a syringe. 

And then there was Julia, waiting for me. You know a true friend when they're there waiting with a packet of smarties to console you after four terrifying injections!

And after the needle, I took myself home, poured a  glass of red wine, and told myself how f@#kin' good I am. Much like bungee jumping, there was life before the jump, then there is only life after the jump. There was life before the needle, now there is only life after the needle. Four needles down, one more to go. 

Love 

Lydia and Julia x