I'm a wimp.

I don't handle medical things well.

When I was in eighth grade, I had my first "incident." We were watching a video on liposuction in our home economics class (I still have no idea why), and I started to feel really dizzy. I made it almost to the bathroom when I collapsed, leaning my sweaty head against the cool wall tile and trying to take deep breaths as my vision came back. I didn't lose consciousness, but I'm pretty sure that would have been the next step.

The next year, I was in health class when our teacher was talking about dislocated shoulders. I started to think about how much that would hurt, and pretty soon, my breathing quickened, my hands got clammy and the black and white lines (like when the cable goes out on your TV) filled my vision as I stammered out a "I have to go to the bathroom" to leave the room before I passed out.

Over the next few years, there were several other triggers, all with the same result. There was the video I had to watch (for liability reasons) before I had my wisdom teeth removed. I freaked out at the possible side effects of the anesthesia and potential ways the surgery could go wrong and nearly passed out during the movie. There was a cyst on my foot in college - when they took an x-ray, I suddenly felt weak and they whisked me away to a table to lie down. It was then that I found out more specifically what was happening during these episodes. My blood sugar and blood pressure were rapidly dropping, causing the delightful vision problems, sweat and shortness of breath. The nurses gave me some water and fudge, telling me that this wasn't uncommon, and that the fudge should help restore my blood sugar and leave me less shaky. They took my blood pressure, and it was crazy low.
 
After that, I tried taking some kind of hard candy (with sugar) to any appointment I thought might cause an issue. I developed a mild fear of new doctors, which was unfortunate because I moved a lot in the three years following graduation from college, so I switched doctors, dentists and optometrists frequently. At my first "big kid" job, I went to the eye doctor ... I think it was a fairly old-fashioned practice, but the doctor started trying to touch my eye balls, flip my eye lids, etc. as part of the exam, and I started the shallow breathing and the room started to spin. I remember wandering around the area where people were picking out frames, trying to resume normal breathing and wiping sweat from my face.

If I look at the posters that hang in doctor's offices or at the vet too long, I can feel it coming on. I'm apparently not cut out to handle anatomy, biochemistry or anything of that nature. I accepted that long ago. A friend at my last job was always joking that I couldn't look at violent or graphic images (and still texts me warning me to avoid certain replays of sports that have bad injuries) and would have to explain to our coworkers that I don't handle blood/guts/gore/health stuff well. She'd watch for my face to drain of color or fan frantically in my direction if she thought that something was going to trigger an episode for me. It was funny, and yet it always seemed lame that I was a grown adult and couldn't handle these kinds of things.

And somehow, I delivered my 8 pound, 2 ounce baby without an epidural. But anyway.

I went to the dentist earlier this year. I like this dentist. I trust this dentist. Apparently I have a cavity - some decay around an existing filling. I haven't had x-rays in over a year because last time I was trying to conceive and there was a chance I could be pregnant, so they don't know much more about the cavity. I was doing OK until he scraped around and said, "Oh, yeah. This is a little piece of tooth." That's when the pregnancy hormones and general anxiety went in to overdrive. I'm sure I looked like a frightened little kid as I asked what needed to be done, if it was safe for me and the baby, etc. They said they wouldn't do anything until mid-way through my pregnancy, but they didn't want to let it go until after I delivered ... the dental hygienist murmured "The last thing you want is a root canal while you're pregnant, sweetie." ROOT CANAL?! WHAT?!

As I scheduled the appointment to have the cavity filled, I felt weak and light-headed. I drove to work, trying to calm down - I've had fillings before, I have faith that my dentist is doing what's good for my teeth and my baby, butwhataminuterootcanal? Apieceofmytooth?! I called my mom, and then I called Tim, and then I cried like a baby because I'm a big, pregnant wimp.

The rest of the day all I could imagine was my tooth falling apart. I worried that somehow drastic decay would occur in the next seven weeks and I'd end up having the root canal and I would cry and scream and pass out like a sissy.

Last month, I had the cavity filled. By the time the appointment came around, I had accepted the fact that whatever was going to happen would happen and freaking out about it wasn't going to help or change anything. And it went fine. I was numb and that always feels awkward, but it was quick and it was painless. The baby kicked and rolled the entire time - a rare morning awake time - and I imagine that the drill and weird angle of the chair signaled to him that this was not a typical morning for Mommy. I apparently need to get a crown sometime after the baby is born and life settles down (ha!), but I'll worry about that later.

I'd like to think that most of my medically-induced anxiety is behind me - that I've learned my triggers, experienced ways to manage the worst of it, etc. I really have to think that the whole "delivering a baby without passing out" thing should signal that I'm over this ... but then there are times when I'm pregnant and told that I need a filling (and possibly a root canal) that I freak out and act like a five-year-old wimp.