If you’ve been following my newspaper articles recently, then you’ll know that I’m always injured and complaining about being injured.

Surprisingly enough, this story is not about one of my various external injuries, but instead about one of my greatest weaknesses: my debilitating fear of needles.

No, I’m not talking about the kind that my grandma uses to hem her handkerchiefs. Those are cool with me. I’m talking about the terrifying, sharp objects that doctors like to jam into my arms every time I go for a checkup.

A few months into my freshman year, my mother and I got into a car crash. Again, I’ve complained about this in The Falcon (check out my column in the January issue).

After I told my mother about the residual pain from my stint in a neck brace, she decided to take action. Somehow, she managed to convince me to go to a chiropractor, describing it as akin to a luxurious spa.

I was apprehensive about going to my first consultation, scared that the chiropractor would end up bending my back in some unnatural way and fracturing my vertebrae. Luckily, he didn’t. Unluckily, it was so much worse than that.

My mother had taken me to an acupuncturist.

I had no idea what was going on when the doctor told me that he was going to “start the treatment now,” so I lay facedown on one of those massage tables with a heating pad under my stomach, feeling pretty good about myself.

The doctor rubbed some “ancient Chinese ointment” behind my ears in order to “even out my mood,” and within about five minutes, the fumes began to make me a bit lightheaded.

So there I lay, relaxed and a bit out of it, when all the sudden I felt a prick at the back of my neck. Then, to my horror, I realized that the prick was from a needle.

By the time I realized that there was indeed a needle in my body, I had one more coherent thought about giving my mother the silent treatment for the rest of my life before I passed out.

I don’t think that the doctor realized that I was unconscious, because by the time I came to, there were at least 15 needles in my neck, wrists, ankles and ears. Naturally, I passed out again.

Thinking back on this incident, I’m fairly sure that the ointment was at least 30 percent responsible for my reaction. While it did smell excellent, my head felt pretty fuzzy after the doctor put the ointment on.

Needless to say, that appointment did not end too well. My mother, never one to give up, scheduled another one without telling me, and I found myself back in the office the next week. This time, however, I actually managed to stay conscious the entire time. It wasn’t that bad when I didn’t think about the needles, and if I’m being honest with myself, it felt kind of nice.

Acupuncture isn’t completely about the needles. There are stretches, soft tissue massages and spine realignments, all of which feel pretty amazing. Of course, for the first few appointments I couldn’t enjoy the pampering because of the anticipation of what was to come next. The needles.

Eventually, however, I began to get used to the slight pinch of each tiny needle, and I could allow the treatment to fully relax me.

Within the next couple of appointments, I was able to acknowledge the needles in my body and only feel a brief wave of nausea, which was a proud moment for me.

I’m not saying that I won’t try to avoid getting a flu shot for as long as possible every year, but I’m not quite as deathly afraid of needles as I used to be, thanks to the acupuncture, and my mom tricking me into going.