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A Fear-Conquering Love
Concealing my nervousness, I sat in the clinic awaiting my turn to receive the flu vaccination, as a pretty, blue-eyed nurse informed me that I would be the next in line. When she was finished speaking, she went to a metal file cabinet and opened the top drawer to fetch my medical chart. For about a minute, I watched her rifling through the yellow folders searching for it before I finally turned away and glanced at the top of her desk. There, I noticed lying on a white cloth a hypodermic needle. The sight of the needle added to my nervousness a feeling of nausea.
Breaking out in a sweat, I returned my gaze onto the nurse and again trailed her movements until she seated herself at her desk. With my medical chart in her hand, she glanced my way and called my name. Rising slowly, I proceeded across the office toward her desk, thinking, with every dreaded step I took, that I must find a way out of the uncomfortable situation. How could I possibly avoid the injection without letting the nurse—my wife—know that I was deadly afraid of having that needle pierce my skin?
When I reached her desk, I sat on a chair next to her, as I was asked to do; and, shortly afterwards, she began rolling up the sleeve of my t-shirt. Then, she reached for an alcohol swab, which she rubbed over the flesh of my upper arm. When she was done rubbing, she tossed the swab into a basket and picked up the hypodermic needle. Grasping it firmly, she aimed the tip at the disinfected region of my arm, smiled, and said, “Here goes.” However, just before she could strike her intended target, I said, as planned, “Honey, I’m allergic to antibiotics, and I hope this injection doesn’t cause any serious harm.”
My words seemed to have some magical effect. I watched her hand freeze in midair, with the tip of the needle coming to an abrupt halt about six inches from flesh. My eyes fixed onto the needle, I sat motionless, except for my heart which pounded feverishly, while awaiting her final reaction to my camouflaged plea (had she moved the needle another inch forward, I probably would have been fainted). Then, I watched, with exuberant relief, as the frozen hand dipped slowly toward the desktop and her eyes drifted toward the sitting area, where all the other patients were awaiting their turn to be vaccinated.
“Mr. Johnson,” she called, her voice sounding ever so sweet, “would you please step up to my desk.”
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