Growing up I hated going to the doctor. I hated the smell. I hated the white rooms. I hated the paper napkin they would make me wear. I hated the weight scale. I hated the cold stethoscope under my shirt. I highly disliked the woman that I called my doctor. Most of all I hated, HATED, getting shots.

Shots are like bee stings but thicker. You also can't slap shots away because they are being held by a big, scary nurse. I would have waterfalls of tears down my face. I would be tenser than an Original Six, Game 7, Stanley Cup playoff game. I would count in my head until the shot was over. I feel like I always got to one hundred and one before it was all over. Best part, I wouldn't just get one of these bad boys, I'd get 3 to 5 at the minimum.

Sometimes they would even require me to COME BACK and get more shots in a series. Let me tell you, the only series I liked as a child was Junie B. Jones, and I am POSITIVE she hated shots too.

My mom would have to drag me by my feet into the doctor's office. I can remember holding my breath when I would go into the doctor's office in hopes I was healthy enough to not get any shots.

I would ask my mom many times before going into the doctor's office if I was getting any shots today. She would say no, but then my doctor always had a new shot under her sleeve that I needed to take. I would tense up just sitting on the paper towel on those leather beds. It was like my doctor knew I hated shots and wanted me to be tortured. I swear I would see her smile and snicker when my mom would agree to a new series of shots.

Evil woman.

When I turned 13, my father passed away. He had a very iconic tattoo, in my opinion. I grew up seeing this bald eagle with its wings spread and a rose in its claws flying away from a sunset on my father's bicep. It was a beautiful piece he got when he was serving in the U.S. Air Force. He never knew how much I admired that tattoo. I was afraid because suddenly, he was gone, and it seemed like the sun had set on that eagle.

It was when I was 13, I knew I was going to get that tattoo on my body. It was for him because I am his legacy and the sun will not set while I am still kicking.

"But it is permanent."

"You will have it forever."

"Think about your wedding day, do you still want it then?"

"What about when you get old and wrinkly?"

"What if you gain weight?"

"Do you really want to do that much color?"

"Wait, don't you hate needles?!"

Yep.

So, fast forward five years. I am 18. I am about to graduate high school and start real life. For my father's Earthly birthday, I got his tattoo put on my shoulder blade. It took 3 hours of bee sting feelings. I bit into my bundled up hoodie the whole time. It was a different feeling than a shot though. But you know what? I was an adult. I was not the 'fraidy child anymore. I sat there and felt every stroke because my father once felt the same thing.

At the end of the day, I was at peace. I took needles for 3 hours. I got a permanent piece of my dad on me forever. I was so happy. Here I am, a girl that hates needles getting a tattoo (or a few).