Like millions, my father was terrified of needles - it cost him his life | Mail Online

Fears: Frank must have known he was ill but refused to have tests

My father Frank had had a phobia of needles since a visit to the­dentist aged ten. He’d gone to have a tooth taken out and found the painkilling injection so traumatic that he’d fainted.

From that moment, Dad’s fear of needles was fixed and he refused to go back to the dentist— ever.

And his phobia grew, becoming a deep-rooted aversion to any kind of medical help which left him terrified of doctors and hospitals, too.

As children we’d tease him.‘Dad’s too scared to go to the dentist,’ we’d joke, as we were dragged off to the surgery

by Mum.

But it wasn’t until my daughter’s birth six years ago that I realised Dad’s phobia was really serious.

My labour had been traumatic and afterwards I needed a blood transfusion. Dad arrived at the hospital, armed with Mum’s Victoria sandwich cake, and sat with me, bravely ignoring the needle pumping blood into my hand.

Then I started to feel unwell and the nurse said the needle needed be reinserted.

Dad, usually so calm, became more and more panic-stricken, and by the time the doctor came he was pacing up and down the ward, sweating and visibly distressed.

I was shocked, but little imagined this phobia would have a far worse consequence.

A few years earlier I’d started to notice that Dad was going to the loo more often. Every time we visited a restaurant, he always seemed to be in there.

As a journalist writing health stories every day, I knew his need to urinate regularly might be a sign of prostate cancer or could simply be or a harmless enlarged prostate (an age-related condition where the gland simply grows).

I tried to talk to my father about it, but he dismissed my concerns. Mum, my sister Joanne and my father’s sister Margaret also pleaded with him to have a blood test, but he didn’t want to listen. 

 

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Dad was one of the most gentle, kind and patient men I’ve known. He was a devout Catholic, a headteacher who played the local church organ and loved his family. But he was also intensely private and could be stubborn.

So we stopped mentioning it and, as his symptoms didn’t seem to get any worse, we told ourselves it was probably just an enlarged prostate.

'A traumatic experience in childhood canoften be the trigger and, if ignored, develop into a fundamentalmedical phobia'

What none of us— even Mum— realised was Dad was actually getting up to go to the bathroom six times a night, and he’d become an expert at hiding this problem at home.

Looking back, I can see that this highly intelligent man probably knew he was ill, but his phobia stopped him from admitting it and asking for help. In July 2008, his symptoms suddenly worsened. It started as a bad back but soon became so­agonising he was unable to lie down.

After many nights without sleep my mother Frances and brother Michael were so­distressed they insisted on taking Dad to the doctor.

The GP wanted to give him a blood test to measure his­levels of prostate specific antigen (PSA)— a key indicator of prostate cancer. Dad was naturally anxious and scared, but Mum said she wouldn’t leave the surgery until he had the test, so he agreed.

A normal reading for a man in his 60s is around four. Dad’s was more than 700. It was one of the highest the surgery had ever seen. Dad didn’t have a benign enlarged prostate. He had prostate cancer, and he had probably had it for years.

But his phobia of needles and medical treatment meant it had been detected late. His needle phobia is far from an uncommon problem. 

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