Mind Over Matter and Metaphorical Carrots

Some actions must be done even in spite of a deep aversion, a visceral dislike, maybe even a passionate hate.  Then there are actions that, in addition, provoke a physical revulsion, a physiological reaction that might manifest as illness - like triggering the involuntary vomit reflex upon just the thought of the act.  Completing the hated tasks in the former category is just mind over matter.  The hated tasks that trigger a physiological reaction of the latter category might require assistance from another person, so as to squelch the defensive bodily response brought on by the mere thought of the thing to come - the other person helps by introducing the element of surprise; no time to have an adverse reaction because you didn’t know it was coming.  But a dilemma arises when dreaded tasks involving your own physical self that should be simply mind over matter must be self performed, and cannot be outsourced to anyone else (or the someone else - won’t throw said person under the bus with an identification - is unwilling to help) - then the self resists physically, the limbs and appendages refuse to execute the task, and must be rendered into submission with all manner of pep talks and self-bargaining, with appeasement, with incentives, with engineering and body positioning, self trickery, self bribery....

Seeing skin break has never not made me squeamish - others' skin, most definitely my own skin.  This deep aversion has affected my life.  It is one of the reasons I never became a doctor, in spite of my parents' deepest hopes and the opportunity to attend one of the best science-focused high schools in the country.   It is why I cannot watch probably half of the movies that have come out over the past three decades - too much violence and gore and inevitable breakage of skin, and limbs, and skulls.

So learning to self administer injections for The Project has been a process and journey.  And I just cleared another hurdle - victory over a long, large diameter, intramuscular needle - yay me!  Okay, so the needle was not as long as it might have been - a bit of internet research and self advocacy and persuasion over some kind nurses yielded a prescription for 1 inch needles rather than 1 1/2 inch ones.  They were smaller gauge, though, and a larger diameter than any I have used before.  And the intramuscular rather than subcutaneous application - at an awkward angle to boot - still lots of psychological hurdles to overcome.  It took a long time to psych myself up, and lots of repeat YouTube video viewings.  I blew past the midnight deadline and finally managed near 5am.  But I did it!  And it wasn't nearly as painful as I feared.  The anxiety was worse than the deed.  Something to draw back on when next I think I "can't" do something.  People have been through far worse and survived and conquered (Aron Ralston, the hiker who self amputated his forearm and hiked back out to civilization is the epitome of that).

Anyway, since I was already awake at that ungodly early hour, I rewarded myself by making a visit to my beloved park, where I hadn't been since about mid-March, right before the stay at home mandate.  The park was just lovely.

Dogwood, I think.  Somehow in all these years, I never noticed it’s leaves are variegated.

After missing practically all of Spring, it was so nice to walk leisurely through, with lots of space for physical distancing, and see what’s growing.  A nice prize for overcoming that mental block.