Has the pandemic cured us of needle fear? | BBC Radio Solent's Alun Newman

It would seem that living through such events there are no clear days of celebration; it's far more of a slow transition.

This is a bit of a shame because clear moments and defined points equal clear memories and more fun. Christmas and birthdays to name but two.

I always imagined that there would be a ‘we’ve done it! We're free and can go back to worrying about getting the flu!’ moment.

I expected it to something for the diary to look back on, but no.

Oh well. The next bit of this story may make some people feel faint so do be careful as you read on, although I wager that fewer people will be affected than in the pandemic.

Is it fair of me to say that when looking for some of the Covid ‘wins’ we’re all a bit better with needles?

It’s only a small and probably debatable win.

I’m no fan, don't get me wrong, but I used to be a real wimp.

I was actually very bad with all things medical. When my wife watches 999 What’s Your Emergency or Ambulance and Hospitals Fixing People in Pain, or whatever those shows are called, when they’re on the TV I can’t watch.

I shield my eyes with my hand and just focus on the top left corner of the screen.

I have become better over the years.

A piece of radio I made a few years ago helped me enormously. I went out on a night shift with some Portsmouth paramedics.

It was a real eye-opener. It was also like ‘saturation therapy’ when your fear of spiders is cured by seeing thousands of them.

My fear of bones and blood was rapidly eased from one night out ‘on’ the van with these NHS foot soldiers.

It was actually really good, rather exhausting and strangely exciting.

Since that baptism of 'real-world-gore' I’m far better but still no Dr Hilary Jones.

Back to my original point.

As a country, we must have improved our tolerance of needles. Confidence must be up. We’ve dug deep and become tougher.

All I would say is that this applies to most of the country... apart from my daughter.

It has been nothing short of a parenting test of endurance.

Each potential needle has required a mammoth effort of reassurance and ‘backing off to let her make her own decision’ – one that is based on science and facts rather than trauma and terror.

The saint-like patience of the vaccination teams was more than I could bear.

Sadly, after losing a game of rock, paper, scissors with my wife, I have to do the next visit. This could break me. This is not an area I specialise in. I have to do the ‘laid back dad, take your time’ face while masking the ‘I’ll shove it in her arm if you Gaffer tape her to the chair’ internal dialogue.

It’s my turn to step up and try to be like all those doctors, nurses, vaccinators, paramedics who have to deal with people who are not only needing medicine but are also a touch scared.

I don’t know how they do it.

I get irritated if someone can’t reverse park.

These people have been fantastic. They’ve trained the nation to get on with it. Our apprenticeship is nearly complete.

Sadly some, like my daughter, have a way to go yet before they qualify.

CHERRIES RECLASSIFIED, SHOCK

I’ve waxed lyrical before about the few years I worked at the supermarket Safeway (Everything you want from a store and a little bit more).

It was a great job and set me up for my shopping life.

I still take food from the back of the shelf because the new stuff is there. I still ‘face up’ (tidy, label front) the tins if I get the time wherever I’m shopping. I never take the first deodorant (some things you can’t unsee). I am also able to quickly mentally plot the locations and groups of food.

I was always amazed some customers could be standing right next to custard powder but couldn’t see it.

However, on a recent trip to a massive supermarket I became unstuck. I needed glacé cherries as we were making Belgian buns.

Of course, I knew where to go. The baking section near the flours and sugar, near the raisins and mixed fruit.

I looked. I looked again. Nothing. Passing me was a member of staff – always a good bet for assistance. The internet shop picker. They’ll know.

‘Excuse me, where are the glacé cherries?’

‘Down aisle 19, next to the mustard,’ came the instant reply.

I was shocked. Mustard. Surely not. A short walk and I’m next to the Colman’s and... there they were.

Now, I don’t mind the surprise bang of a firework, the cheers from an unexpected birthday party, an F-35 jet breaking the sound barrier. But this was a step too far. After all we’ve been through as a nation, please, for the sake of our sanity put the cherries back in the baking section.

A message from the Editor, Mark Waldron.

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