This morning, I went on strike. I foolishly realized it was 8:45 and we had yet to do my morning shots (both of which burn like the earlier referenced Chicago Fire), so I nudged Joey and said, Ohai, I guess I need my shots.
He agreed with me and said he’d get up to go get them ready.
Then I realized what an idiot I was for remembering my shots, and I told him I wasn’t going to have them after all.
No way. No how. Thems hurt.
In fact, I yelled to no one in particular, “I’ve already had like 15 shots!!! Isn’t that enough for one life?” (But then I counted and I think I had only had 8, but close enough.)
Joey, with his usual fortitude, got out of bed despite my whines and protests and he went to the bathroom to wash his hands.
I laid there thinking how much I hate Menopur, and then I got a really good idea. We keep the bags of injections in our room behind my bedside table because they are kind of huge, what with the pharmaceutical boxes and whatever. We don’t have room for them in the bathroom. Well, I sneaked out of bed and grabbed the bags and dove back under the covers, shoving the bags under the pooffiest part of our down comforter.
You know, so Joey wouldn’t be able to find them and then I wouldn’t have to have a shot.
But I had made too much noise.
Joey, with freshly washed hands and minty-breath, poked his head in the door and said, “What’s going on in here?”
“Um, nothing,” I said and burrowed further down into the comforter with Blankie.
“No, something IS. I heard noises.” Joey marched over and tried to pull the comforter up but I held on as tight as possible, which didn’t last long. Momentarily, he gained the upper hand and ripped the blanket back and saw where I’d hidden all the medicine. “Nice try,” he said, grabbed the bags and disappeared again into the bathroom.
“NOOOO!” I wailed, more for effect than anything else.
“If you want to have babies you have to have your shots,” Joey yelled back.
Arg. Point taken.
Soon he reappeared, holding the vial of powdered Menopur that would shortly be mixed with saline and shot into me WHILE I SCREAMED. Seriously, some pharmaceutical dude has got to work on that one.
Yesterday, as we were meticulously trying to figure out how to mix the injection and reading and following every direction to a T, we noticed that the cap of the Menopur vial says “Flip Off”. Assumedly it’s because you are supposed to flip the cap off the vial, but we covered our bases, just to be sure.
Plus, as bad as that one hurts, I don’t feel sorry for taking its directions literally.
Sorry. Infertility injections make you do weird things.
Anyway, we followed the Menopur directions and then Joey hauled me into the bathroom and said, “I’m really, really, really sorry.” Then he stabbed me.
