When I was 18, I joined the Air Force. One of the first things that happens in basic training is the issuance of your very own personal Shot Card. You get a little booklet, fill it out with name and Social Security Number, then start down a line, get stuck in the arm, get the card stamped for that particular injection, and move on to the next shot.
Fear is not an option. You get over it or go nuts. Those shots must be kept up to date, less you get orders overseas. Your orders will direct you to be up to date and the base hospital has to sign your check out list that you are, in fact, up to date. You learn early on it is better to keep up with them, than have them all done at once. And odds are, when being sent to someplace like South East Asia, there are going to be needed shots over and above what is needed to keep up to date state side.
Over the 11 years and 22 days I served, I filled up two of those Shot Cards
I learned to ignore the fear… mostly. The fear changed to hate. Shots were better than getting sick, though I think Cholera can’t be worse than the shot. I got my Cholera shot the day I left Offutt AFB for Thailand. I drove from there to Colorado Springs to meet my parents, visiting an old family friend. I was driving a stick shift Datsun truck. It wasn’t long before an ache developed on my right side. The shot was given in the right cheek, which started to ache. The ache radiated out from there to my entire right side and grew into full blown pain if I moved my right leg or arm too much. I learned to shift left footed and left handed. By the time I arrived at my destination 8 hours later, I was a mess. Thank God it lasted just under two days. The booster I took at the LA Air Station 10 days later was a cake walk.
Leaving the Air Force, I thought I was done with shots. Well, at least 99% of them.
In 2003, that changed. Sort of. No shots, but needles every day. On 23 November 2003, I get a call from my doctor’s nurse telling me the test results are back. Type II Diabetes. All I can think of is needles.
No shots, just finger sticks each day. The first time I did a finger stick at home, and hearing my reaction, my wife remarked she was going to learn how to swear in Thai and Lao. I learned how to stick my fingers with little or no pain in short order. I think the big thing for me is not seeing the needle. The needle in the lancet is hidden. You put it against the side of your finger tip push the button, it sticks you then retracts back into the device.
I’ve had a good run. A decade of control with no meds is no small feat. The failure rate for control with diet and exercise alone is 95% each year attempted. I did it for almost 11. Oral meds alone worked for another 6 years. I knew injections were inevitable, but I had hoped to put them off longer than I did. But, well, this is the nature of Diabetes. It is insidious and progressive.
My numbers started to rise. I thought it was because I was not active enough, but even on days where I’d come in exhausted and overheated, my numbers didn’t budge. My body made the choice for me.
Trypanophobia. Sticking a finger is not the same thing, as injections. Click and its over faster than saying click. Talking an injection… well… A needle, a real-life injection needle. 17 years ago, I told my wife that when the time came, she’d be the one injecting me. No way I was going to inject myself. Did I mention the injection is in the belly?
I’m in with the healthcare coordinator, alone. With COVID19, my wife was not encouraged to be there with me. The healthcare coordinator is showing me the different types of injection pens. I pick one, Trulicity, I think now, because it was the of the two options where I can’t see the needle. The problem was she was not aware I was coming in and took the pen out of refrigerator when I arrived. She held it in her hands to warm it up, but not long enough. Pull the cap off, rotate the pen so the lock-unlock indicator is facing me, push the other end into my belly move the indicator to unlock and push the plunger. CLICK, it burns a little, wait for the second CLICK and I’m done. From click to click is a long time, 5 to 10 seconds. Night and day from a finger stick.
I feel tenderness at the injection site for days, but it’s not a bad deal. Switching sides each week helps.
Trypanophobia. Not anymore. Well, not as long I can avoid seeing the needle. I still won’t look at the needle in my arm during lab tests.
There are times when I am sure I picked the wrong disease. No exchanges allowed… I checked.