When I was in middle school, my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. At that age, I didn’t fully understand the seriousness of it. But I knew it was bad, and that ordeal is what I contribute my hate of hospitals to.
And now its my turn. Friday afternoon I have an appointment that is the precursor to my colonoscopy, and to put it mildly, I’m not looking forward to it. After about 3 years of doctors telling me that I need to get one, for some strange reason, I decided that age 28 was the year I’d do it. (I still have until June to panic, back out, and reschedule.)
And you know what the sad part is? I’m flipping out, not about the possibility of having colcon cancer, but about the IV and the procedure itself.
I’ve been a relatively healthy individual–no ER trips, no broken bones. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had blood drawn. (I passed out once so now I have to lay down.) Really I’m a huge baby when it comes to the doctor.
I had an IV once when I had my wisdom teeth pulled. I don’t remember it, so maybe it wasn’t bad. But I’m at the age where all my friends have had babies in the past few years, and they tend to make me think my IV experience was luck, and I probably will have a horrible experience this time around.
Needles….Ewww…can’t type anymore…fingers going numb.