Up until around the age of 11, I told everyone I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up. My mother's a nurse, so is my grandmother. I love caring for people. But one day it all clicked. Nurses give shots, and I DON'T like shots. So, I decided that I needed to be a scientist instead.
As I stood in my kitchen last night. Working under the darkness with just the under cabinets lights guiding me, I drew up my meds into the humongous syringe. I carefully concocted the secret recipe of IVF success. I'm still a pansy when it comes to getting (and don't ask me to give) a shot. But I've noticed this time that my anxiety is a lot less. I don't have mini-panic attacks before each injection anymore. I don't push away Gene's hand. I can watch him do the Lupron, but I still cover my face when its time for the menopur (now comboed with gonal-f) injection.
I feel icky at this point. As I know I should. My ovaries are getting tender. Which means that sitting will soon become uncomfortable in the next few days thanks to old righty hanging out in my thigh crease. I've made sure my stretchy waist pants are ready for wear. I don't care if they are a linen blend and its the middle of winter. Damnit, when you've got coconuts inside your abdomen you can wear whatever the hell you want to!
No comments:
Post a Comment