After two years of dealing with diabetes (more if you count the 3 months of injecting myself while pregnant with Liv), you would think I could handle the needles.
In reality, the only reason I am able to get my pump infusion sets in without a problem is because I use a rapid inserter that is primed and when I push the button the needle shoots into my skin with no thought on my part. I could never go back to injections. I would aim the needle over ten times before finally puncturing my skin, which I always did much too slowly because I would chicken out at the last second. It hurt. And my food was always cold by the time I finally could sit down to eat it.
I fought like crazy to get my glucose sensors covered by insurance, but inserting them makes me pass out so I haven’t used them in months and my control over fluctuating blood sugars is suffering because of it.
I have to have my blood drawn every three months in order to find out my A1c level, which is a measure of how “well” your blood sugar has been controlled. My dreaded visit to the lab was this morning and I still have to look away while the tech does their thing. I have been known to pass out, which almost happened this morning right in front of my two-year-old daughter…
Liv could tell I was having problems (she was unfazed by the needle in my arm collecting vials of blood) and gave me her pink teddy bear to hold on to. It worked. Looking at Liv centered me and the fuzzy blackness that was closing in started to clear, the sweating subsided, and I managed to stay conscious. Just barely.
When I was having my blood drawn to find out if we were pregnant with Kade, I dropped like a rock. Thank goodness Kyle was with me, but I was a mess. It was a hot day in July and I had on a tight pair of cotton pants. I had to ride the bus back to our apartment with sweat stains that outlined my ass…lovely.
Although I’ve always told myself and the world that I gave birth to both of my children without meds because I wanted the experience, I really think it’s because I was more afraid of the pain of the epidural than I was of the pain of childbirth.
Maybe two years isn’t enough? Maybe it’s a five year learning curve before I’m totally desensitized? Whatever the case, I’m looking forward to the day that needles don’t make me cringe in fear…and pass out…and cry like a baby.
3 Comments
Two years?
I’ve been a type 1 diabetic for about 35 years. I wrote a blog post about this and saved it to put on the blog during a dry spell, but I’m going to post it right now.
You’re not a wimp. You’re a hero.
there’s an old saying that goes something like…
Courage is not the absence of fear; it is facing your fears.
This may be little solace, but I just wanted to say that I can totally relate to your needlephobia…and blood draws for that matter. The difference (I realize!) is that you’re faced with the sharp end of the needle every day…whereas I get to hold the other end. Just the same — I wanted to say that I ‘get it’. I about passed out giving my 1st injection (yeah, God bless the instructor who finished that task otherwise there would be a patient somewhere with a needle in his thigh for the last ~15 years!)…I still can’t watch myself getting blood drawn (or an IV started or any of it!)… So — bless you! — for living with the sharp end! And I’m still sending warm fuzzies to my ever-so-loved pancreas. :)
I’ve never gotten used to A1C needles. I look away all the time. :)