On Wednesday I once again trucked down to the clinic for another ultrasound and to have more blood drawn.  Seriously, these people love my blood, just like Blood Source does.   Blood Source is always calling me and putting me on the spot and guilting me into blood donations, as well as sending me about 2 post cards a week, each one with some different miserable child in need of my life-juice:deelishAnyway, they took my blood, checked out my ovaries (all clear), and sent me back home.  It wasn’t until two hours later that I got another call from them saying that they had forgotten to get another vial of blood from me and that I had to jet to the nearest lab to get it done NOW.  I don’t remember the reason for it being so urgent–something about them having to test in 24 hours.  So I’m rushing around, trying to get the lab slip faxed and trying to move my break at work up an hour so that I can hustle my ass down to the nearest lab.  I’m in the middle of all of these preparations when they call me again to basically say, “Just kidding!”  Turns out with the cycle I’m on, they didn’t need that last vial of blood, so I was off the hook.

Today I got the go ahead to start the injections (dun dun dun!).  I was given the choice of taking them every morning or every evening.  Night owl that I am, I chose evening.  For the next ten days or so, I’ve got to inject both the Follistim and the Menopur.  So when 10 o’clock rolled around, I began to set out my arcane instruments.  The packet of medicine and syringes they gave me did not include chalk, so I had to dig around in my desk for 20 minutes to find some chalk so I could draw the alchemical circles.

And then began the 200-step process of unscrewing needles, swabbing with alcohol, loading of medicine cartridges, swabbing with alcohol, sneezing, swabbing with alcohol, screwing another needle on, swabbing with alcohol, setting the syringe down, swabbing with alcohol, putting on some calming music, swabbing with alcohol…You get the picture.  I had an prodigious pile of used alcohol wipes and their packaging by the time I was done.  And then came the moment of truth.

I approached this whole process pretty casually, my rationale being that if I acted like it was no big deal, it wouldn’t be.  And then I started swabbing left and right and that sterile hospital smell hit me and I started getting tense in response.  But I still tried to play it cool.

Then I found that it’s a lot harder to play it cool when you’re at the business end of a syringe.  I went into nervous laughter mode.  I just sat there giggling away with the needle about an inch away from my stomach, when all of a sudden it was actually in my stomach.  You know when you’re a kid and you’re getting a shot and the nurse says she’ll count to three but then actually stabs you once she gets to “two”?  I somehow pulled the equivalent of that on myself.  I sat there stupefied for a while, just staring at it before I realized that I had to actually push down on the plunger.  I hardly felt it.  After I pulled out the needle, the area sort of burned, but I think that’s because I didn’t let the medicine fully come to room temperature.  One down, one to go.

The Menopur was more complicated.  And there was even more swabbing!  You have to withdraw saline solution from one vial and mix a particular amount into a powder solution and then draw the mixed solution back in.  Everything went pretty smoothly until I got to the injecting part.  I went too slowly and ended up only half stabbing myself, which hurt like a bitch.  I tried again without any hesitation and everything went fine.

If people are interested, I may post a video once I get more settled into a routine.  That seems to be the “in” thing to do.  And in the words of Brad Neely, “Because it’s nice….to be interested…in other people’s….things.”

I don’t have another appointment until next Tuesday, so until then I’ll be stabbing myself nightly and loving it.

(Oh, and for those of you who were wondering…as of the second drug test I am drug free, proud to be!)

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