I am not a junkie.  I swear.  To look at my arm today, you’d probably question that. The needle marks and bruises are all up and down my arm. The other day, I was brave enough to let someone who is learning how to do IV’s, practice on me.  Yep, I VOLUNTEERED (sorta) to have someone stick me with a needle who doesn’t have the experience.  For some people, that may be no big deal.  For me, not so much.  I am still queasy around needles.  I can’t look when they are putting them in or taking them out.  I’m getting better though after all this practice.  Three tries that day.  Add that to the two marks from last week on the same arm and you’d think I was a drug user.  Honestly, I’d pass out before I could do that to myself.  I wouldn’t be brave enough to stick my own veins.

After my mastectomy, the doctors recommended that I not take unnecessary risks with my right arm.  That would include IV’s and blood draws.  With so many lymph nodes removed, I don’t have the same immune response for that area of the body any more.  So unless absolutely needed, I try to avoid any IV attempts on that arm.  That makes my left arm look horrendous right now. 

In yesterday’s post, I touched a little bit on my health journey since my breast cancer.  I am still working hard to be well.  The viruses that my body was not able to fight off from years ago are starting to attack my heart and cause some other problems.  Because of that, I am currently doing weekly treatments to hopefully heal my heart and kill the viruses.  The treatments include receiving IV’s.  Was this all from the silicone poisoning?  I can’t know for sure, but I do know that other women who have traveled a similar path as me with this illness, have had comparable health stories to share.  That leads me to believe that it may be connected.

While needles aren’t one of my worst fears, it still is something that makes me a little uncomfortable.  God uses even the smallest things to teach us lessons.  Every week now, I get to face my fear and have an opportunity for prayer.  Every time, I pray for the people administering the IV while I take a deep breath and look away.  It’s a small thing really, when I look at the big picture.  I tend to have these arguments in my head about how silly I’m being about a little needle, when I’ve braved so much more. God reminds me that it all matters to him.  The big prayers are just as important to Him as the little prayers.  He wants to hear it all. Some of my little prayers are that the nurses can get the IV on the first try.  That would be fabulous, so my arm won’t betray me and make me look like a junkie.