My trypanophobia could not stop me from getting my first jab

Many decades ago, I was tasked with taking one of my baby girls for a blood test.

The details of why the test was needed have long escaped me, but I remember the events as they unfolded like it was yesterday.

On the way to the hospital, I explained the process to her. I promised her that it would not be sore and that it would be over in a flash. Of course, I also promised her the earth and the moon if she didn’t cry.

So there we were, at the hospital, with my little girl sitting on a hospital bed wearing her bravest face. Then the nurse arrived with the needle. It was enormous. My stomach churned. I couldn’t watch.

Next thing the needle is protruding from my baby’s arm, a see-through container is attached and a stream of blood squirts into the vial…

I wake up and I’m the one on the bed, flat on my back. It takes me a second or two to get my wits about me. I have a splitting headache. My baby is standing next to the bed, stroking my arm, telling me everything’s going to be okay. She’s still wearing her brave face.

The hospital staff demand I drink a cup of sweet tea and eat two biscuits before I’m allowed to drive my daughter home. Turns out I really do suffer from trypanophobia.

Last Wednesday, I drive myself to the hospital. On the way, I envisage the process. I tell myself it’s not going to be sore and that it would be over in a flash. I also promise myself I’m not going to cry, hyperventilate or faint.

The queue isn’t that long, but it moves slowly – slow enough for some folks to walk away, mumbling about time. I persevere. My struggle is not with time, but with courage.

One hour and 40 minutes later I’m ushered through the door. The needle is even bigger than I imagined it to be and a lot longer than the one from decades ago.

I take off my jacket and put on my brave face. It really is over in a flash. I got my first dose of vaccine.