Doctors and Nurses and Needles
I’m quite familiar with needles. They’ve found their way into my body no matter how much I try to avoid them. As an infant, at days old, nurses stuck me with shots of medication to keep me from sickness. As I cried in fear, the nurses soothed me with their soft voices and rewarded me with a Barbie band-aid. Needles were nothing to be afraid of; needles kept the bad things away.
Before I went to kindergarten, I lined up with the other kids at the doctor’s office. My parents held pieces of paper with my immunization records and what shots I lacked, and just like that, without any second thoughts, needles pinched my arm, injecting medication once again. This time, I got to pick my band-aid. I picked a Cinderella one. Through my 5-year-old tears, I knew that this pain kept away other worse sicknesses. Needles kept the bad things away.
I didn’t think much about needles again until I turned eleven. My family was moving to a new country, and once again I had a list of immunizations to receive. This time, I didn’t cry. I knew that needles weren’t bad. Each week as we prepared to leave the United States, as I received up to three needles in my arms at one time, I sat still and confident. I watched other kids cry and scream as their parents comforted them while the nurses injected them with life-saving medicine. But I was a strong girl, and I knew these needles couldn’t hurt me. I knew that needles kept the bad things away.
When I turned 14, I learned that needles couldn’t always keep the bad things away. Doctors stuck me with needles every few weeks, taking my blood from veins in my elbow. These needles didn’t take away the pain. They only reminded me of the pain I was already feeling. No one knew what was wrong with me. My parents and the doctors kept telling me it was going to be okay, that one of these tests would give me answers. But with every poke, every pinch, every vial of blood they drew, my mind spun into panic. Even when I finally got an answer–Rheumatoid Arthritis–the needles, the shots, still kept coming. Every few months the doctors had to test my blood for inflammation, and every few months I had to see that needle go into my vein without preventing the sickness. Needles don’t always keep the bad things away.
When I was seventeen, just when I thought I would only have to deal with needles every few months, the doctor gave me some bad news. The medication that was supposed to treat my Rheumatoid Arthritis, the hundreds of pills I swallowed every year, were not enough. He knew of medication that could help my sickness improve, but I could only take it through a needle. He prescribed me Humira, an injection medication that I had to give to myself every two weeks. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. More needles. Needles that didn’t help me; needles that only reminded me that something was wrong with me. Needles that never kept the bad things away even though everyone told me that they would.
But I got the Humira despite my skepticism. I remember the first box, opening it like a present I never asked for or wanted. The epi-pens seemed to stare back at me, mocking me. The medicine had to be refrigerated, which only reminded me how serious this illness was. I’m the freak who has to carry around cold medicine now… great. I now had to travel with a little cooler and answer TSA questions at the airport every time I went through security. Everyone would always see me and know that something was different as I told the agents I needed that medication to help me walk. It was my nightmare. This needle was definitely not keeping the bad things away. It only brought more bad things, and I couldn’t escape.
But then the medicine started working. I could walk without pain. My fingers no longer swelled, refusing to bend. Instead of dread, with every shot of Humira I felt hope. I still kept my secret from most people, not wanting my friends to know that I relied on a needle and medication to function normally. I still hid my cooler that I had to pack with me anytime I went on a trip, burying it in my backpack and hoping no one asked questions. The needles kept the bad things away, but that didn’t mean I wanted people to know about them.
But as time went on, my embarrassment diminished. In fact, I found it hilariously entertaining that people wanted to crowd around me and watch as I stuck a needle into my thigh. I am twenty-five now, so I’ve been injecting Humira into my body for almost eight years. I still regularly visit the doctor for blood tests and more needles, and feelings of shame still pop into my head every time.
But rather than viewing each poke and needle as something that makes me different from everyone else, I now try to see it as God’s provision. God gave us medicine, and for me, that medicine looks like a needle. Without it, my pain would never get better and without it, I could not serve Him in the way that He has called me to. Without the injections I received as a child, I could not have lived overseas with my family. Without all of those blood draws, doctors never could have given me a diagnosis. God used every injection even if I couldn’t see it at the moment.
And He continues to use my Humira needles to keep the bad things away.
Doctors and nurses and needles. I’ve never known a life without them. I’ve lived with my needles in private for many years, hiding my chronic illness out of embarrassment. But I refuse to live in shame anymore. Yes, I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. Yes, I give myself injections and take hundreds of pills. But God is good because each medication is a miracle from Him. He provides the doctors, He provides the medicine, and He provides me with a voice to advocate for others with chronic illness.
If you have chronic illness of any kind, if doctors and nurses and needles are a part of your everyday life, you are valuable and loved by an Almighty God. You are not a mistake. He created you and because of that fact alone, you are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). The needles may not keep all the bad things away, but God provides salvation so that no amount of pain this earth throws at you can take that away.
Pain of all kinds will come at us in this life, but if you trust in Jesus, you will have hope for a future when all pain will disappear. With every doctor appointment, every injection, I pray that you remember that this earth, the pain that you’re feeling today, is not your home. One day, we won’t need needles because God will make all things new and right. Needles won’t keep all the bad things away, but one day God will redeem His creation, including you and me, and no bad thing will ever harm us again.
