Phew! I was not a happy, infertile woman when Nurse Anne called me yesterday afternoon and said she wanted me to do an injection for the next 2 nights. Sure, we took the class where we stuck a notepad with some ‘fake skin’ that felt like raw chicken. An aside – if my skin feels like raw chicken skin, we have a whole new problem.
S got home and I was ready to rock and roll and get this over with. S filled the needle like a seasoned heroin addict … just kidding, of course. But he did a great job! Here’s how it went when I laid down:
J: Okay, I need you to just do it, don’t count or anything. And I can’t look. It’s not because it’s you, I have to do it with the nurses too. I have total faith in you.
S: Okay, 1, 2 …
J: I SAID NO COUNT …
And then he shot me up with the very important Gonal F. I didn’t feel it go in, but it burned a little bit. And, like a good infertile, hormonal wife, I demanded a present for each shot. Nothing big and flashy, but if I was 4 years old and getting a shot, I would get a sticker right? It feels like a valid request. This shot I got a lollipop bouquet in the shape of circus … things. Yay! Plus, he got some fun Angry Bird bandaids. Obviously I didn’t need them since the injection was so teeny tiny, but that wasn’t the point.
One more tomorrow, then Wednesday I head to get another ultrasound, then hopefully a trigger shot.
