I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t scared stiff of injections. Back when I had to get immunised in secondary school, I’d be at the back of the queue or I’d find a reason to miss school altogether that day. When my own children were small, it was my husband Sean who took them for their jabs. I just didn’t want to be there and what’s more I didn’t want to pass my fears on to them.

I believe there are lots of people like me who put off going to the doctor or dealing with a medical issue because of a fear of needles. It’s only recently that I’ve found the medical profession taking someone like me and my fears seriously. Up to a few years ago, I was being told to pull myself together, get a grip and to stop being a baby. That’s despite the fact that my blood pressure soars when faced with a needle.

Funnily enough, I’m able to handle a needle, indeed I’ve injected sheep and lambs on numerous occasions without any real problem. It’s just when it’s pointed in my direction that my anxiety level soars.

So you can imagine my consternation when I was told I’d have to inject myself with something that looks like an EpiPen every day for the next year. I just couldn’t get my head around it at all. So what on earth could I do to help me deal with this phobia?

There was no comfort in people telling me that after the first few times, everything would be fine. So on the recommendation of a friend, I decided to try three sessions of CBT (cognitive behaviour therapy) to see how that might help.

Early on we established that my fears probably developed when I was nine years old and spent most of a summer in hospital. Those were the days when parents didn’t stay in hospital with their children and the only visit I had was a weekly one from my father. I vividly remember the rattle of stainless steel that usually meant a blood test or a needle of some description or other.

During the first CBT session, I learned all about the conscious or front part of my brain which is rational and reasonable and fully understands and accepts that I need to take this ‘scratch’ every day. I’ve also learned about the bigger, older, subconscious side of my brain which believes that any pain means trouble and serious trouble at that.

It’s a bit like an alarm system that’s oversensitised, one that starts up if a feather falls on it. So the task was to try to reduce that sensitisation. On the second and third sessions I was put in a trance as I listened to the therapist tell stories that were to be absorbed by the subconscious side of my brain.

I tried to make sense of these stories, to understand them, but was told they were aimed at my subconscious and wouldn’t make sense outside of that.

Whether or not the CBT will help me deal with self-administering a jab every day, I don’t yet know – but what I do know is that I am no longer worrying or getting anxious about it all the time. I’ve always been good at getting to sleep but the relaxation exercises I’ve been taught have me asleep within minutes and I sleep really soundly every night.

I feel ready to deal with the situation now and am more confident that I will manage it well. And that for me is a serious improvement on where I was six weeks ago.

The 60-75 minute sessions of CBT cost €70 and were provided by a fully qualified CBT therapist. CL