It Takes a Village …

Once, when I was in kindergarten, my grandmother Branka took me to my pediatrician’s office to get a shot. I hated shots and had a terrible fear of needles. But since I was with my baba Branka, I knew I had to be brave.

Baba Branka - in very old age

From as early as I can remember, I was very close to my grandmother Branka. She was a sweet, kind and gentle woman with limitless time and infinite patience for every whim of mine.

She was also always feeling unwell, and there was helplessness about her that made me want to protect her and take care of her. “Don’t worry, baba, I am here to take care of you!”

So, as the nurse entered the examination room with the needle, I didn’t cry, but for that one time in my childhood I bravely extended my arm and took the shot without fussing, fighting or kicking. I amazed my doctor, who knew a very different side of me.

On the way home from the doctor’s office, while waiting for the bus, my grandma told me that she had lost her wallet.

“What should we do?” I asked.

“We could tell people around us our situation and ask them for bus fare?” baba suggested.

I still remember my embarrassment and mortification. I suggested that we go back to the doctor’s office and ask her for money.

Always eager to please me, baba agreed. The pediatrician, an old friend of my mom’s who was my doctor since I was born, was very pleased when we told her the story. She gave us money for the bus ride and said to me:
“Today, you have been a very  brave girl. You didn’t cry when you got your shot and you figured out what to do when you needed money to get home. I am proud of you!”

The way it works, though, is that even if we are six year old, most of us instinctively know when we have to be in charge, when we are the strong one in the relationship and must make decisions. Around my baba, I knew that I was the stronger person.

My mother and I, mid 1960's

But with my mom, I knew I could relax and be a child.

So, the next time I saw my pediatrician and needed a shot, this is what happened.

As soon as she came into the room, the doctor brought up the story of my previous visit and praised my courage and sensible behavior under pressure. She expected no theatricals.

But I was a different child at this visit. I had regressed. The fear of needles overwhelmed me and I didn’t even try to pretend to be brave.

I started whimpering, then wailing, and by the time my pants were taken down and my mother held me tightly so the nurse could administer the shot, I was wiggling, kicking and striking with all my might.

The nurse tried to keep control, but I was a fierce opponent. The needle split in two, most of it in her hand with one little tip remaining in my bottom.

I don’t remember much of what followed next, but I do remember the nurse angrily scolding me while my mother gently caressed my head – as I quietly lay on her lap and let them take the tip of the needle out. What was the use of struggling now? I knew when I was defeated.

The doctor came in to say good buy and she didn’t scold me or act disappointed. She was laughing as she gave me a hug. “You are still my brave girl,” she said, and handed me a few dinar bills. “This time, spend it on ice cream.”

And as my mom and I sat in our favorite ice cream parlor (poslasticarnica) I was sitting on half a chair and slowly scooping bites of vanilla, chocolate and hazelnut ice cream. I was proud that I had the money to pay for our treat.

I told my mother that I was sure that I had turned a corner. I was a brave girl now and wasn’t afraid of needles any more. “What can be worse than what just happened?” my mama asked.

What indeed?

And that is the story of how I learned to face my worst fears and look them straight in the eye. With help from three patient, loving women.

Tagged as: facing one's fears, growing up, relationships