When I was a wee tiny lad, I was sick. A lot. Spent much of my first five years sick, including quite a bit of time admitted to various hospitals. Enjoyed spending time in an oxygen tent with double pneumonia sort of thing. And got quite a lot of injections in the process.
To this day I do not do well with shots. Not all that long ago, an injection would usually lead to my unconsciousness, or at least to serious tunnel vision and wooziness. Occasionally crying would accompany all of the exciting symptoms of impending falling out.
So of course when I acquired a wasting disease (I chose ankylosing spondylitis, which I heartily recommend to everyone), I got one that requires weekly injections to manage. The good news is that, with weekly injections of Enbrel, I’m not in pain and the disease isn’t progressing so I won’t be losing any more range-of-motion.
So anyway I had to go down today to have blood drawn as part of my managed weight-loss program (down 42 pounds so far … woo hoo!). Since I get shots every week and no longer cry/pass out, my wife didn’t go with me to hold my hand.
Holding hands with my wife is one of the best things ever.