Growing up, I don't think I have that much recollection of being confined in a hospital. I loathe the place. I guess back then, I knew how half hearted my answer was to the question: "What do you want to be when you grow up" 90% of the time kids would say "I want to be a doctor." I think I knew I was lying or maybe it sounded grand even for a 10 year old kid, yet picturing myself on a white coat and a stethoscope hanging on my neck was never part of my dreams.
But I don't think I was ever afraid of needles. Not until my son came along. Every trip to the hospital gives me a deep seated anxiety that may have sprung from the first time my son was confined. They could not find his veins for the IV, and I, stood aghast at the sight of 3 doctors who were apparently torturing my son. I walked out in disbelief.It has been like that ever since. I hated needles and I think at one point I even contemplated on burying my fist on the poor doctor's throat who was only doing his job. Its a wonder how a procedure that's supposed to make you better can hurt just as bad.
When we look at the things that hurt us, or those that makes you shiver in discomfort. We tend to overlook at the positive things that it brings us. True, there will never be a painless way to insert the intravenous line on our veins but it prevents dehydration.
I hope there will never be a need to get confined but if it happens again, I will be ready, or maybe I will try to be ready.