Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Pass the Progesterone, Please!

It's 5 o'clock somewhere and while I'm in need of a drink, I'm preparing this temple to house the babe so the only chemical abuse I'm allowed is that of the dreaded PIO injection. Usually my loving husband takes great pride in his active role in producing our child. Why is he always so eager to prime that giant needle? Payback for a snide remark or just there to help?

It's a process each night--laying on the couch or bed on my side psyching myself up when in all honesty it really doesn't hurt. The oil kind of stings, but there isn't any dripping slop falling out of my vagina three times a day so, I suck it up and take the shot.

But now that the ever-so-helpful husband is traveling to further his career (as I stay behind to house the babe), I'm stuck (no pun intended) with the dilemma of how to get this giant needle in my behind. Who to rely on?

Myself.

Twisting into the mirror I jab the needle into the left hip area of my rear. I immediately realize it didn't hurt! Yes! And out comes the needle. Crap. Wow I'm bleeding now.

Ok. Redo. And bing. Hit the mark--as in the oil glob floating in my muscle. Squeeze the plunger. Keep pushing. Any freaking day now. Wow, I'm really getting hot. No, I'm sweating. Ok, don't pass out. Breathe. Take your flipping shirt off. You can do it 3/4 of the---what the heck 3/4? Man! Push that damn plunger in already!

Finally! Wow. Two holes, double the blood!

I get off the counter and sit on the floor. Knocking myself out probably won't
help my odds of this whole thing anyway. I'm proud of myself. I did it. One embryo at a time. Now I can go throw up.

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