And I'd like to thank...

I have come such a long way. So far in fact, only my mother and closest sister may have a full appreciation for the ground that has been covered. Actually, most of my siblings can probably understand, because we all started at about the same spot.

My first hazy memories begin around the age of 5. I don't remember much except, many hands holding me forcefully in a reclined position, and doing my best to flail but not finding success. And then I remember asking my mom when I would have to receive another shot and she assured me, "not til you're 12".

My name is Elise and I am needlephobic.

I can also remember the purple paisley carpet in the doctor's office and the way I wanted to vomit out of fear when I had to have a single stitch on my lip. Our new puppy had been under the kitchen table fighting with the cat. In my attempt to play the mediator, Dolly bit all the way through my top lip.

I ran screaming through the house with blood pouring from my mouth, trailing on the carpet, as I looked for my mom.

My name is Elise and I am bloodphobic.

So it is almost unnecessary to explain that all further similar medical situations in my life were always much more exciting than requisite. And let the record show that neither my mother (a registered nurse once upon a time) or my father ever had the propensity to freak out over blood or needles. Yet again and again, their genes powerfully combined to produce offspring with serious medical fears. Most of us, at one time or another, fell under one of two categories: freaker or fainter, or occasionally a combination of both: a freaking fainter.

On one of our banner episodes, my sister Leah and I combined forces for a double visit to the doctor for routine physicals. Our family doctor, was an older gentleman, a long time family friend and member of our ward. His wife ran his small office and also acted as a medical assistant. And our families went back probably 50 years in the Lexington area.

And on said day, it became apparent that both Leah and I needed a shot. And let me just summarize by saying that by the end of the appointment both he and his wife had been kicked (twice) and I think Leah even passed out. And the next Sunday, Brother Butler was not joking when he found our father and told him the next time we came for an appointment, he better be the one accompanying us, because our mother was not strong enough to restrain us.

I also feel it is necessary to explain to those who read this who are lucky enough to not be a freaker or fainter, that this goes beyond mind's reason. When the fear kicks in, it is not something easily controlled. Flight or fight turns to your brain stem and leaves your gray matter out of a job. No amount of "calm down"s make it better. Just so you don't think I kicked an innocent old doctor and his wife because I just didn't want a shot.

I even passed out completely when I got my finger pricked in pre-op as an adult.

But like I said, I have come so far and I owe it mostly to Target.

When I was first pregnant with Ava I agreed to participate in a study, which required me to take a prenatal vitamin and an iron pill every day of the pregnancy. And in exchange for having my blood drawn 4 times along the way I would receive a (4) $25 gift cards to Target and then when I had the baby, I would get a $50 one. Sign me up.

And I attribute that frequent exposure to my fear combined with a promise of a desirable reward, with the progress that has been made.

Last Friday, I had my 12 week appointment. The doctor ordered routine blood work, and after a few minutes of deep breathing, I became the phlebotomist's most forgettable patient. And I had to pat myself on the back.

It's not fun to be a medical provider's worst nightmare or to know that you are going to be discussed over someone's dinner table that night.

I went home knowing that I had not freaked or fainted and that tonight I would not be the topic of conversation in someone else's home (at least in regards to being a terrible patient). And it felt good!

Thank you , Target.