When I was 2 years old I had dengue fever and got rushed to a hospital in Semarang. I can’t remember much but this one particular thing. The nurse was trying to give me an injection of some sort and I was crying and refused to take it. So she asked some of her friends to tie me down. Now I can’t really remember if they tied me up or simply held me down hard, but I was so scared that it traumatized me until now. I hate needles, I hate it so much I try to avoid it when possible.
The room was dark. Or bright. Or semi-dark. I honestly can’t remember. I was in tears while mumbling “Please please please I hate needles, I’m scared of needles. Please please please…”
I saw this huge needle in front of my eyes. I tried to look away. It was painful. I felt a squeeze on my hand. The doctor grabbed a tissue and dabbed it on my cheek. It didn’t make me feel any better.
I survived my first biopsy.
“Hmmm the result says it is an inflammation…” said the doctor.
I almost leaped out in joy!
“But I don’t think it is, sometimes it is like this with a biopsy. I suggest we do another one,” he said it almost too casually.
Another one? ANOTHER ONE? Does he have any idea what I went through the first time round?
NO NO NO. That was what I told him. It wasn’t my fault his team couldn’t do a decent job the first time round. NO.