I really do try.

So by now I guess my most secret, most shameful, and just ridiculous fear has come to light. You will probably be shocked to find out that I am not as super tough as I appear. (I DO appear tough, right?)
So the cat is out of the bag: I am a total wreck in the sight of needles and/or blood.
Actually even saying the words like "artery" or "mitral valve" make me lightheaded and nauseated. I have to lie down for a blood draw, and yes, I have fainted in the lab before.
I KNOW! It's laughable, but the cold hard truth is, it's true. I can't even watch a vampire movie without putting my head between my knees.

So, here I am, in the land of Di-ba-leet-eez, with everyone around me saying things like "But it's such a SHORT needle" and etc. You know, I just don't care, it freaks me out and I can't wish it or will it away. This is reason 407 that I hate this, you can't take a pill for type 1 diabetes.

So, Day one home from our trip, after a quick trip to the hand rehabilitation clinic (I had surgery on my hand last month for a dog bite) I schedule an immediate appointment with my Dr. to see if she has any ideas on getting me through this. Without fainting, vomiting, or sweating bullets all day long.. being a stay at home mom puts most of this whole needle business squarely in my lap.

I have a plan. I will calmly toss my hair, and firmly explain to my Dr. that I have this phobia, and I need her help with coming to grips with it. I am kind of figuring she will think I am a stupid, lame, chicken-weenie, so I am prepared to come off cool and .. adult. Damn it, I wish I was wearing some black heels instead of these dumb Tevas. Sigh.

My young, cute, pregnant Doctor comes in the room and looks quizzically from my chart to me, as my "reason for appointment" that I gave was "I need help". Her cute pregnant tummy brought up unwanted, uncool, uncalm feelings.
I saw her in that moment as a mom, full of all of our common hopes and dreams for our unborn babies.
I connected with the illusion of protection being pregnant creates, and we can't seem to reconcile that once the cord is cut, and they are lifted away, impossibly, from our bodies, to be wrapped in blankets- we can never protect them this way again.
All hair tossing forgotten, I squeak out "Help me," "My son Logan has Diabetes and I need to help him and I... am scared.. of needles!!!" This is followed by long rackings sobs, shaky shoulders, you name it: I lost it.

To her credit, she did not call me an idiot, or look at me like I should have gotten over this years ago, or sigh as if I was wasting her time. She aksed me questions about how it all started (childhood surgeries on my eyes) and referred me to a phobia counselor, a family counselor, and gave me a prescription for some low dose anti-anxiety pills.

I was so grateful. I kept wringing my hands and wishing I could say something great to her. All I could say was "Thank you, Naomi". When I stood up, she said, "Aw, here, let's have a hug", and gave me one. It felt so good to know that I was another mom to her, too.