Gulping at the rubbery hand that’s suddenly appeared before you, you begin to tremble. Sweat beads form on your forehead and your breathing becomes laboured. You know you shouldn’t be afraid of ‘it’, because you are indeed much bigger than ‘it’, but you can’t help it. It’s a phobia, a real phobia of creepy crawly proportions!
In the dimly lit examination room, bare and clinically white with metallic cobwebs of sterilised stretchers, tables and hand basins that you’ve bumped into, you find the ‘hand’ a most mortifying sight. You stare, heart failing and wide-eyed at the five gloved fingers, as they crawl towards your poor arm which now lays exposed and vulnerable.
The ‘hand’ pauses momentarily to steadily size up your arm. On deeming it a perfect prey, juicy and sweetly suckable, the ‘hand’ - with its formidable five gloved fingers - draws up into a fear-inspiring stance, its held needle sharply poised all ready to attack.
And, attack it does! The ‘hand’ lurches forwards and with ferocity and cunning, jabs at its goose-pimpled arm prey. Your arm has no chance of escaping it in time, and soon you feel the venom seep in to paralyze you with the dreaded faints. You know you’ll never make it to the door now. The ‘hand’ will have to call on its many needle fanged buddies, to wrap you up and escort you to the jellybean jar.
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