My voice shook as I gripped the edge of the table. “Yes, but just a few. I don’t anticipate a scar.” “I hate needles,” I said. “A lot. This one time I had a nurse give me an IV and she poked me twenty times before she found a vein.” “Twenty?” He sounded more amused than believing. I nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure of it. I don’t even think she went to nursing school. Or maybe she did some kind of correspondence school and I was her first victim.” I was rambling, but the idea of being poked numerous times with a needle had fried my nerves. He patted me on the knee. “I’ll apply a local anesthetic and you won’t feel a thing.” A local anesthetic? That sounded serious. Just in case he hadn’t grasped my trepidation, I stressed, “I mean, I really hate needles. They’re right up there with killer clowns.”
