On Needles (Part 2)

A few weeks ago, I gave myself a shot in my stomach to try to trick my body into following pregnancy directions. It isn’t a super aggressive form of infertility treatments, but it is where we’ve drawn the line. Or, rather, where I’ve drawn the line because there ain’t NO WAY Ryan would be shooting himself up.

Setting: Our bathroom, 10:00 pm
Me: Sitting on closed toilet lid, holding syringe close enough to belly to make a dent, but not enough to puncture
Ryan: 10 feet outside bathroom door
Me: “I don’t think I can do this. This is so gross.”
Ryan: “There’s no way I can do it, Sara.”
Me: “It’s stupid I’m scared. Diabetics have to do this all the time.”
Ryan: “And heroin addicts.”Me: (Smirk face.) “Yuck. Yuck, yuck, yuck. (And commence approximately 5 minutes of ALMOST doing it, but then… not.)Ryan: “Sara. Just do it. It won’t be that bad.”

Me: “Ryan. You won’t even come in the same room with me. You’re not being very convincing.”

(Commence about 5 more minutes, eventually ending in me actually giving myself the shot.)

**Disclaimer- It is important to note two things here. 1: Ryan is a very supportive husband and I love him very much and 2: I am what I like to call a ‘recovering hypochondriac’, so my supportive husband was entirely justified in the following events…**

Me: “I did it!”Ryan (in bed at this point, with the lights turned off): “Good work.”Me: “Ryan. I’m afraid I didn’t get all of the bubbles out. What if it goes into my heart?”

Ryan: “Sara, do you even know how fast blood travels through your body? You would already be dead.”

Me: “But what if there are just bubbles floating in my body now?”

Ryan: “Then please turn off the bathroom light before something happens so I don’t have to get up and do it.”

Generally, at this point in my catastrophic thinking trail, I know he is right so I drop it, but my brain doesn’t. It is very tricky. So I wait in the bathroom to feel where my body is tingling so I can track the air bubbles. And… success! I don’t die AND I managed to cross ‘give myself a shot’ off the ‘Things I Have Never Had a Desire to do, Ever’ list! (And then I mentally high five myself because my husband is sleeping, or pretending he is sleeping, because he knows that really I am just sitting in the bathroom freaking out over nonsense and he doesn’t want to have to keep talking about my untimely demise from the minuscule bubbles in the ovulation syringe. He is the perfect husband for me.)

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