Shots, shots, shots, shot-shots!

IVF: Week 2

 

        Shots, shots, shots, shots, shot-shots! Not exactly what the group LMFAO had in mind when they made their song entitled “Shots”, but it seems fitting. I’ve graduated to 4 shots per day plus a daily blood draw. That’s a minimum of 5 needles in me per day, plus going to the doctor’s office every day. In a few days the routine doctor appointments will also include an ultrasound . . . not the easy on the tummy ultrasound . . . we’re talking looking from the inside, super-fun, ultrasound!

        This week really started off with a bang! One of the hormones is giving me the most vivid and crazy dreams. I’m also sweating but freezing cold at night. I wake up a dozen times per night because of the sweat and the cold, then I’m distracted by the crazy dream I was having. It seems like anything that was on my mind or in my face that day ends up in my dream. I never reach a full deep sleep because the dreams seem to keep my mind half awake. Example: I saw the trailer for the new Brad Pitt film a few times before bed, so naturally he was in my dream and wearing a Kilt. I don’t know why. So, I’m tired, very tired, but it’s ok.

         I have definitely felt the emotional side of the hormones a few times this week, but not too bad. The worst of it was when I saw a bald eagle dive bomb the freeway. I narrowly missed it, but the car behind me couldn’t avoid it and ran it over. On a normal, non-hormonal day, that would have made me tear up. But on that day, it was too much. My heart ached for this beautiful creature that I was powerless to save. I wanted to run out in the street and rescue him like he was MY bald eagle, my dog, my child. Naturally I called 911, they gave me the run around, I gave some very rude man a little tiny taste of the hormones, then I called my husband and cried. This was only the beginning to a super-fantastic day!

        I was on my way to get and ultrasound . . . the inside out kind . . . when the eagle incident happened. When I got there, SURPRISE, I had to have a few more thigns done than just the ultrasound. Yay! I was poked, prodded, had my uterus measured for tilt and depth . . . from the inside! Fun! Then, I got to go to the pharmacy and buy 42 more needles (in addition to the almost 50 I already have). The next day I got to start 2 new hormones (3 additional shots on top of the 1 I was giving myself). The first, of these 2 super fun hormones, I take twice per day, and it makes the back of my throat taste like BAND-AIDS. Sweet! The second new hormone is quite a fussy little guy. I have to actually break glass, use 2 different needle heads, mix things, and lastly it has to be injected into my rumpus by someone other than me. It’s my favorite!

        Yes, all the shots hurt a little, yes, the butt shot hurts more, yes, I bleed, and yes, I bruise. BUT, it’s totally worth it! It’s not that bad, it’s just an adjustment. Isn’t having a baby always an adjustment? Absolutely! I’m just adjusting early.

        Enough about needles and all that junk, let’s get into the funny stuff; the crazy! I’m actually doing very well, if I do say so myself. . . and my friends reassure me that I’m doing great because I haven’t injured anyone. I did, however, let the crazy out just a little on my 13 year old son this week. I was very, very tired, and we had just gone to Costco. Whatever energy I had left I used up at Costco. By the time we got home, I was exhausted. While we were unloading the groceries, my son accidentally spilled uncooked rice everywhere. I told him it was no big deal and to sweep it up. Thirty minutes later, I was still nagging at him about the rice. Finally he started sweeping it up but he wasn’t paying attention, he was goofing around, and he was missing a bunch of it. When I told him to do a better job, he got a 13-year-old attitude with me. I mustered all the patience I could grasp and didn’t freak out, I simply spoke to him calmly about it . . . until . . . he continued with the “Uh! I have to get EVERY SINGLE piece of rice?!” Well, then Mommy reminded him that this may not be the best time throw around attitude. I felt my face ignite with fire. I could have touched my hand to car battery and given someone a jump start. I looked him in the eye and said “Son, if you want to have attitude, then let’s have attitude. I have and excuse for my attitude and I don’t use it. You spilled some rice and have to clean it up and YOU’RE having the bad attitude?! What’s your excuse?! Don’t play the bad attitude game with me right now, because you won’t win!” And that was the end of it. He understood where I was coming from and why, and we moved merrily about our day.

       Moral of the story; Mommy is only so strong, so don’t pull that crap while Mommy is on the hormones . . . Love You!

       Then there are the shots in the butt . . . always a good time. The first day the nurse demonstrated by injecting me with saline. Once we were home, my husband had to give me my first real shot of meds in the booty. He did a great job. Sure, it hurt and it bled, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Now the second day was a different story. My husband works a demanding and dangerous job and is often called to work at a moment’s notice. Thirty minutes before he was supposed to give me my shot, he was running out the door for work. But, since our God is and omniscient God, He provided a dear friend, that was already visiting, to administer my shot. The thing to know about this friend is that she is a strong, confident, capable woman, so I had no fear of her handling it. We got everything ready; we mixed the solution, we swabbed the spot on my behind, she grabbed the muscle, plunged the medicine into me and then . . . POP! When she pulled out the needle it made a loud popping sound as if it were suctioned under my flesh. I started bleeding quite a bit and she felt terrible. It didn’t hurt anymore that the other shot; it just made a very loud sound. After the bleeding stopped and the band aid was on, I realized how lucky I was to have her here in that moment. Popping butt or not, God provided for me. And now, we have something to laugh about down the road. “One time Aunty Charity made Mommy’s booty pop . . . and not on the dance floor.”

Laughter IS the best medicine!

       To quote my friend, “This baby better be cute.”

Time for more shots, shots, shots . . .