No child likes needles. Many are scared to death by them. I used to say something like, "We'll need to do a blood test." Then, often before the words were out of my mouth, I'd watch the panic spread across my patient's face. After that, nothing I could say would make it better. The child would be past listening.

Now I say something like, "Are you somebody who hates needles?" The child gives me a scared look and nods her head. "Well," I say, "I know some tricks that can make them a lot less scary. Do you want to hear them?"

That's the way it was with Lisa (not her real name). I was seeing Lisa for a weight problem. At 7, she was already the size of an 11-year-old. She couldn't keep up on the playground. She didn't breathe well at night. And I worried that she might be moving toward diabetes and high cholesterol. To find out, I needed blood.

Lisa was scared, but she was also interested in my tricks. I taught her how she could make the fear go down by paying attention to something else. I asked her to notice different things - how the bottom of her feet felt, how the hair felt on the back of her neck, how the muscles around her eyes and mouth could be hard or soft. I helped her pay attention to her breathing, slowly in and out. And she focused on some shiny bubbles that she and her mom blew together.

With all of that, Lisa still cried and flinched with the needle. But she didn't scream and run away, and we didn't have to hold her down.

That was then, about 6 months ago. Now, last week, I needed blood again. Lisa didn't look happy, but she didn't panic. I asked if she'd like to focus on her breathing, think about something nice, notice how her body could feel warm and comfortable. "I need the bubbles," she announced.

We got the bubbles. I tied the rubber band around her arm and cleaned her skin with an alcohol pad. Lisa watched the bubbles. I told her she'd feel the little pinch. The needle went in. I had to move it around a bit to get into the vein. Lisa didn't flinch, she didn't cry. She looked at the dark red blood as it flowed out. "We only need two tubes," she reassured her mom.

Lisa was in charge. She had learned to use her mind to overcome her fear. I had coached her, her mom had supported her, but Lisa had done the work. I was proud of her and told her so. Will this experience make it easier for Lisa to take charge of her weight? I don't know. Can't hurt.