Dear Doctor

Dear Doctor,

I warned you I’m a little phobic of injections. It’s not my fault you didn’t take me seriously.

It may not be a phobia, but it’s  definitely more than just a fear. I can see you don’t understand that. At all.

When a needle sticks me, (apart from the psychological part, fear) I start to cry.

I don’t care if you think I’m childish,I don’t care if you think I’m overly dramatic,

For the simple reason that you are not my friend. You are my doctor.

I don’t need your sympathy, or want it.

What I do want, is: after it’s over, when my burning face vibrates, and my arms,

And my legs feel too light and too leaden by turns,

When my breathing is coming heavy and when I’m shuddering from the shock,

When I ask you, dear doctor, through my chattering teeth and wavering voice, to

“Please give me a minute” to collect myself, I expect you to give it to me.

I understand you see many patients. I understand many of them may be exactly what I profess I am not. But that is irrelevant to me.

When I am covering my mouth while crying in gasps, ashamed, trying not to make a scene, and I ask you, firmly but politely, for “just a minute”, I expect you to look away for sixty seconds until my breathing is back to normal. Not mock me and refuse to let me cover my trembling mouth, while asking unrelenting questions in a misguided, patronizing attempt to “divert” me.

I know it may be hard for a learned, busy person like you to understand, but most of us really do know what’s best for ourselves. Not in everything, but at least the basics.

I don’t care if you go home and make fun of me to your family. I don’t care if you never understand this thing, this fear, but I don’t believe that understanding is a requisite for you to show some courtesy as a doctor to your patient. You may owe me no courtesy, but I have not paid for discourtesy either. I have paid for medical care, and that includes giving me a minute to catch my breath.


A Disgruntled Patient

P.S. Trypanophobia, a fear of needles and injections, includes among its symptoms: feeling faint, nausea and panic attacks. My exact symptoms. Just so you know.

P. P. S. I would’ve included a picture, but I’m phobic. Pictures also cause some symptoms. And yes, that’s a real thing.

P.P.P.S. I won’t be back.



Reflections and Revolutions

Trifecta‘s latest:

WORM (transitive verb)

1a :  to proceed or make (one’s way) insidiously or deviously<worm their way into positions of power     — Bill Franzen>

:  to insinuate or introduce (oneself) by devious or subtle means
:  to cause to move or proceed in or as if in the manner of a worm

:  to wind rope or yarn spirally round and between the strands of (a cable or rope) before serving

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s – “

“Not all of us are showoffs, you know. Nor you queens. Sheesh.”

“I bought you to reflect, not deflect; I’ll worm it outta you soon enough.”

Class Interrupted


When I came back from Enrichment, the room was dark.

Some teacher came in

In the middle of something I can’t remember.

She held conference with my teacher

And then the TV was on –

You know the one:

The big black thing,

With the huge, wheeled base.

We saw buildings on fire.

Or maybe just the smoke.

I can’t remember registering what was happening;

I just remember going home.

It’s funny how one day can change a nation

And a phone number.

Learning to Use the Remote

Daily Prompt: Moment of Kindness

June 20, 2013

Describe a moment of kindness, between you and someone else — loved one or complete stranger.


Almost ten years ago, I embarked on my saddest flight journey ever. I was leaving behind my life and people I loved, and I felt lost and as if everything had been wrenched from me, although I didn’t know how to put it in words at the time. My travelling group had an odd number of people, and, with my luck, I happened to be the one assigned to sit alone. Stewing in the aisle seat, not my seat of preference, anger, hurt and frustration welled up inside me. Abandoned.

The flight had one of those television screens built into the back of the seat in front, so I pulled out the remote and tried to find something to watch. But with my luck, guess what? I couldn’t figure out how to make it work. The frustration increased, and I’m not sure I would have been able to stop myself from breaking down if what happened then hadn’t happened.

“Can I help you?” the passenger beside me asked. Needless to say, I gratefully accepted his help and learned how to navigate the remote and the television. Just then, I got a call from the rest of my travelling group. They’d arranged for a place for me next to them.

From what I remember, my co-passenger was Hispanic and in his late twenties. Probably just another guy on just another flight. But he was more than he will ever know to me that day. I still think of him with gratefulness. It’s amazing how something as simple as helping someone out with a remote lingers in people’s memories. He didn’t have to do it, but he did. It wasn’t a huge favor, nor did it right all the wrongs in my life; indeed, it didn’t better my situation at all. But it made me smile. It eased the sting a little bit and reminded me that there is still good in this world, although (again) I couldn’t have put this into words at the time, nor am I sure I even understood why it made me feel better. But it did.

So, Man Who Helped Me, if you happen to be reading this, know that what you did for me that day I deeply appreciate. I hope I have done/will be able to do, for others, what you did for me.