(Not) A Fan Of Needles

I could pull up a discord chat where some Hivers got befuddled at the fact I stated that I preferred injections to pills. They couldn’t understand why because who on earth wants to be pricked by sharp Steele?

I wasn’t always a fan of shots. I used to, like every other kid, be scared of the tiny demons. What would frustrate me to no end is how the nurses would coo and tell me it’ll be fine when they are repeatedly piercing my asscheeks! I’d scream at the top of my lungs but that wouldn’t change anything.

I guess it was as a result of always falling sick to malaria and typhoid that I became immune or rather, numb to the pain of the needle. I remember receiving four shots a day; two to my hand and two to my butt. My hands still have faint scars of this story I tell.

One really horrible experience that I had with injections happened years ago.

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I stayed over at Daisy’s, my cousin, that weekend; I was thirteen at that time. We had just reunited after years thanks to my Grandma’s (God rest her soul) visit back to Nigeria. She wanted all her grandchildren in one place and so, Mom had no other choice than to release me.

My Aunt and Uncle were not happy with my mother’s presence the previous time she brought me to meet my grandma thanks to a long standing dispute. Grandma was fed up and put her foot down. She asked my Mom to not deprive me of connecting with family while also chastising her sister, my Aunt - or grand aunt rather - for her poor and immature behavior.

After that, I was allowed to visit whenever I wanted. Hence, I was seated cross legged on the top bunk out of two bunk beds in Daisy’s room. Daisy was lying face down on the top of the other one and our other cousin, Nena, was on the lower bunk underneath, sitting with her back resting against the wall. I can’t remember the details of what we were talking about only that I got mad at something Nena did and hurriedly got down from the bunk to teach her a lesson.

My foot had barely touched the rug when blinding pain ripped a scream out of me. My legs gave out and I collapsed to the lower bunk narrowly missing my head against the iron.

“What happened?” Daisy was already clamoring to get down and Nena who was sneaking away came running back.

“See blood!” She announced.

“Ah! Blood of Jesus!” Daisy exclaimed, taking my leg in her hands.

I was in pain but I gave her a funny look,

“Do I look like his twin?!” I asked

I brought my foot to closer to examine. There was a shard of glass in the really deep cut on my sole. I thought I would faint.

“Go and call mommy!” Daisy yelled at Nena who dashed out like her pants were on fire. My cousin bent down, picked the broken bottle of perfume that I stepped on and threw it to the trash. I hadn’t even seen it.

“How did that even break? And why wasn’t it swept?” I scolded.

Before she could answer, my Uncle rushed in to find me cradling my bleeding foot.

“Come, let’s get you to the chemist. Can you walk?”

I stood, trying to hop on one foot but was swooped up by Uncle bridal style and transported to the car. I heard my aunt yelling out something I was too weak to comprehend. My sight turned blurry and I felt light headed. The chilly night air did little for my brain or the burn I felt on my injured foot.

By the time we got to the chemist, they were closed. There was no close hospital at that time and the closest was 40 minutes away. My cousin told me that she had never seen her father so frantic before and she panicked because I was began muttering incoherent things.

When we finally found an open pharmacy, my Uncle just wanted me to be tended to. I was woken by stinging pain when my injured foot met with mentholated spirit. Tears poured down my cheeks as they sewed but nothing prepared me for the horror that would follow soon after.

I received some tetanus shots and was sent home after that. The next morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my right leg barely able to recall the previous night’s events. My cousin gave me the full discourse. That afternoon, the ache turned to a full on throbbing pain. I couldn’t move without wincing. So I didn’t move at all. And my cousins looked after me.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. My leg felt like it was being constantly beaten by a sledgehammer. I tried to be strong and swallow the pain but alas, I cried out. Daisy was a light sleeper then (not anymore) and woke up immediately. After she saw my tear stained face and heard me plead for relief, she went to bring her father who came armed with panadol and a cup of water.

It didn’t work. The next day, I couldn’t stand. I couldn’t think or eat. I cried all day and night into the next morning. I wanted my Mommy!

Uncle drove me, with my cousin supporting me in the car, to the hospital at the crack of dawn. After some tests, the doctors confirmed I was not only given the wrong medication but it was also injected into the wrong part of the body. My uncle was livid. I just wanted relief. They administered some pills to help me sleep because of the pain while the drip they inserted into my vein to flush the previous medication (or whatever they explained) did its job. Then I was placed on pills – ugh! – to relieve the inflammation in my veins.

When I was discharged (two days later) I found out that my uncle went to pick up the person who’d administered the drug to me in the beginning only to find that the person wasn’t even the owner of the chemist.

Apparently, he was just a student who had just completed his medical degree and left the country to join his parents after that. The man in charge, after much pleading to the authorities said he only stepped out to eat dinner and had no idea the boy would go ahead and administer drugs without supervision. The authorities released the man after he paid a hefty fine and I stopped following from there. I have no idea if they got to the boy or not.

That experience should have forever written me off needles, but I kept falling sick and kept taking shots. This time, Mom would take me to a hospital no matter how far because she heard of everything and I was surprised she didn’t lose her shit.

Now, needles are just like a pin prick where I’m concerned. They also work way faster and better than tablets - for me at least - and don’t leave a sour taste in the mouth. And my legs work just fine.