Fascinating Shots: A Short Story

My worst fear is getting shots. This arose when I was two years old, and had many visits to the doctor’s office because there were concerns about my respiratory system. I had to have many blood tests, which weren’t only scary, but also were painful. The blood tests came out normal, but it was later discovered I had asthma. After I had a severe reaction to tree nuts at around five, I had to have even more blood tests to determine if I had other allergies.

Looking back on the day while we were in the doctor’s office almost 1 hour before arriving at the truck stop, Dr. Steven Fowler pricked my finger in one of the many rooms located in the back. I jumped because I wasn’t expecting that little machine to prick my skin like a thorn that has just entered into the top layer of my finger. The small droplet of blood on my forefinger was dark red in color and was the most perfect blob shape I had ever seen. They put a different electronic-like machine on

However, once we arrived at the hospital and the waiting began, anxiety began to creep in again. My parents tried to comfort me with small talk, but I couldn’t focus. I could only think about the surgery, particularly how the surgeon would stab an IV into my hand. I kept envisioning the stabbing pain that would carry from my hand up my arm. The surgeon finally came in and asked if I had any questions and to tell me that the operation would start shortly. “Is there any way I can wear a mask instead of having a needle? I hate needles.” My surgeon, a kind looking older gentleman said gently, “No, you’re too big for that. We can give you laughing gas though if you-” I nodded enthusiastically. “ Alright, laughing gas it

I went to the appointment on that Monday, and being a bigger hospital, I was even more terrified. We checked in, and luckily found a spot to sit in one of the waiting room. The room wasn’t filled with sadness or negativity, it was somehow filled with laughter. There were many children, therefore some of the parents had brought coloring book for them. I just wanted to know what these children were at the hospital for. They seemed to be the most charming children ever, and I just couldn’t understand why whatever they're going through was happening to them. My parents had left to buy coffee,

Whenever I’m in a waiting room for something such as a doctor’s appointment, or a dentist's, I can’t help but be overcome by a sense of anxiety, even if I know for sure that all I’m there for is a simple check up. Perhaps it’s just the thought of all the worse things that I could have potentially gone there for, such as a shot that I would have to get on my arm, or in my mouth for some dental procedure. So when I sat in the waiting room of the orthodontist building where I was to get my wisdom teeth out, I felt terrified.

I'm excited, it is my first visit with my somewhat new gynecologist. I have met him before, but this will be my first official exam done by him. He's so hot and his voice melts my heart each time I hear it. I'm in the waiting room, patiently watching the gynecology waiting room clock, go round and round. I began to watch the clock hands spin, and I began to drift off into deep thought, until I was interrupted. "Miss Peterson? The doctor will see you now." The young blonde assistant gingerly spoke "Oh great. Thank you, Ma'am." I thanked, as I walked into my doctor's office. To my surprise the office was empty, so I took a quick seat next to the examination table. My heart began to race as I saw all of the various tools and equipment precisely

She walked over to my to my left side and searched my fore arm for a good vein to start the IV. Since she could not find a very good one on my left arm, she moved to my right side. She found one right away. Then she cut off the blood flow by putting a rubber band tightly around my upper arm. As she was getting my arm sterile, she looked at me and asked if I was nervous. 'Yes, very much. How'd you know?,' I asked. She giggled as she said, "Because your heart rate has gone up quite a bit." I tried to calm myself down at that point. I had forgotten I was hooked up to numerous machines and they could monitor my every move. As I began to look away, not wanted to watch the needle go into the surface of my hand, I heard my mom say, "Would you like me to hold you hand?" 'NO, I'll be fine." I responded. Only then did I realize how much she knew the extent of my fear. "Okay this will only hurt a little bit, then you may feel the coldness of the fluids go up through your arm." The nurse informed me. I looked away, looking at anything but my hand. Before I knew it, it was over. At first I did not feel the fluid go up my arm, but about 10 minutes after the nurse left, I did. My mom just all of a sudden felt cold, and it felt so odd because it was inside my arm, in my vein. Once my IV was in and the fluid bag was hung by my bedside, my mom and I were once again alone. Somewhere in our conversation about what would happen post surgery I decided I needed to use the bathroom. I then realized I probably should have went before they put the IV in. Pushing the button they had given me if i needed anything, I could hear my mom trying not to laugh. About four nurses came rushing in. I suddenly felt bad. They all rushed over to me asking what I needed, if I was okay. When i told them I only needed to use the restroom, then began to unhook me from everything. One nurse carried the bag from the IV across the hall to the bathroom while I

While I sat anxious. I had never been a fan of hospitals. Not to mention that I was exhausted and I was beginning to form a headache. I Couldn’thelp but to yawn.

One day, while sitting in one of the St. Luke hospital rooms in downtown Boise, a nurse had softly knocked on the door after Mom had clicked a red button on the side of Anthony’s bed that had called her. The nurse, dressed in blue scrubs, entered quietly, noticing my brother was asleep before making her way over to the machine that was currently emitting a loud, monotonous beep. After stopping the annoying sound and changing the IV bag hanging off of the rack on the machine, she looked over at Mom, exchanging a few words with her that caught my interest.

Wrapped in my new blanket, IV still in my vein, my bed was wheeled down the hall into a room I had never seen before. Everything smelled of bleach and alcohol, burning the insides of my nose. Everything around the room was noise to me, for the only thing that stole my attention was the operating table, center stage under countless lights.

Lying on the hard gurney in that cold, stark white operating room, I could see the nurses and doctor all scrubbed and wearing their white masks and plastic glasses. The constant beeping of the monitoring equipment became louder in my ears, the cuff on my arm inflating as it was reading my blood pressure made my senses more aware of what was going on. I could smell the disinfectant, my mouth, even tasted like I had swallowed Lysol. The nurse was going over her checklist, asking me my name, asking me what procedure I was here for, and then receiving from her the details of what was going to happen. Having experienced this before with my first son Christopher, which was horrifying because I had not been ready for an emergency cesarean section,

We all waited for a few hours until Tori finally got discharged. Later Tori told me that the reason she wouldn't let me use the Epipen was because she didn't want to admit what was happening. She will never make that mistake again. When we left to my surprise all Tori wanted to do was walk around so we wandered around Centennial Park for an hour, then went back to her house and didn’t wake up until the next morning. I have never been so scared.

I arrived at the Baptist Memorial Hospital at 1:18. As I went to sign in at the health records department, I could feel the butterflies in my stomach. I was filled with nerves and a million thoughts going through my mind. All I could think about was how ready I was for my time in the Emergency Department to be over so that I could go to another rotation site. When I finished signing in and getting my picture taken for my Baptist Memorial Hospital I.D., I walked down the hall to the Emergency Department. As I walked up to the desk, I could see that there were very few patients in the waiting area; it looked like it would be a slow and easy day. I walked up to the desk and told the women my name and my purpose for being there; she pushed the button on the side of the wall to open the doors to let me in. As I walked into the Emergency Department, I was hit with the smell of germ-x and blood combined. Surrounding me were nurses dressed in blue scrubs. I went into the break room and placed my folder and jacket on the table. I went and sat

“Good, because it 's only five days away!” I smiled at the nurse; she was nice. The whole time we talked, she was doing something with the mask. I wasn 't sure what it was, but I was too scared to ask. After a few minutes, I was told to sit still while the nurse covered my mouth with the mask. She told me that once my whole mouth was covered I had to inhale deeply. Then she put the mask over my mouth. Once my face was all covered with the mask, I inhaled the sweet tasting gas just like I was told. I thought about how good it tasted, then I thought about nothing.

My mind ran wild with thousands of thoughts as I sat on the familiar, discomforting chair in the cramped waiting room. “What’s wrong with me?” I thought. My eyes glanced down at my clammy hands; my heart beats faster than the thoughts run through my head. This question continuously invades not only my thoughts, but my peace of mind as well. I’ve become quite acquainted to the unflattering, stark white walls thanks to my countless doctor appointments. The pen provided struggles being grasped by my sweaty hands, making it seemingly impossible to fill the medical papers out. My stomach churns with nausea because the nervousness for my results have worsened. I have become so accustomed to my habitual appointment routine that I no longer remember the angst I endured during the beginning of my doctor visits. This appointment feels different, though.