TIM BELFORD

I have this fear of needles

The anthrax scare has a lot of people spooked.

I know we're not supposed to panic, but it's hard not to worry just a little bit.

Even though the experts say disseminating anthrax is not really a particularly effective way of attacking the civilian population, the threat still lingers.

For my part, I reckon it's a double threat. The possibility of contracting a serious disease is bad enough but the thought of having to get a shot to prevent one is even more worrying.

I don't like needles. It's as simple as that.

According to my mother, this was evident right from the start.

As a baby it took her and two nurses to restrain me long enough for my initial childhood inoculations.

After that -- like taking a dog to the vet -- I apparently developed a sixth sense that allowed me to go to ground if a visit to the doc was imminent.

In school, when my classmates dutifully lined up for the standard tuberculosis shot, I could be found locked in a bathroom stall, feet raised off the floor hiding from the authorities -- much like the Amish kid in the movie witness.

One of my worst experience was in high school when I ruptured a kidney playing football.

I got a pain killer every three hours -- in my posterior.

One of the nurses was terrific. She had the science of distraction down to an art. Roll over, a bit of chat, in, out and it was over.

A second nurse -- possibly named Ratchet -- use to stroll by the room and toss it like a javelin.

I come by my wariness honestly. When my father got his smallpox shot to go overseas he promptly contracted cowpox from the vaccine.

Back in the sixties, I took a teaching job in the West Indies.

When they told me all the shots I needed, I asked to be sedated. Unfortunately this would have required a needle as well. So I was no further ahead.

My worse experience was in the armed forces.

The needle was about eight inches long and was wielded by the guy who played Igor in the Frankenstein movies.

Smallpox booster, tetanus, paratyphoid a, paratyphoid b and about a dozen others whose names escape me. They were all necessary.

It was about a month before I could raise either arm.

And I don't suppose it's got any better.

Anyway, short of locking ourselves in our houses and giving up mail for good, there doesn't seem to be any alternative.

We'll just have to soldier on. Me included.