So, I just completed the first round of bloodwork for this next round of IVF. I went to the lab, and as I was sitting in that weird padded armchair ready for them to wrap the rubber strap above my elbow, I started to have flashbacks and really analyzed the crooks of my elbows.
There are lots and lots of pock marks. Because, you get lots and lots of vials of blood taken from you when you prepare for and go through this process. Also, the doctors commonly prescribe baby aspirin while you are on the prescribed hormone injections . . . so you bruise easily.
Take a look at your own "crook in the elbow" . . . do you have a favorite sight for when the lab needs to take a blood sample . . . well, through this process you rotate your arms so they aren't taking blood from the same arm two days in a row, and the "favor" is no more, and both sides are bruised . . . don't get me started on the duct tape that disguises itself as painless tape for that stupid cottonball that goes over the injection site after the blood is collected. And you don't dare to refuse the cottonball torture because you are bleeding, remember you are on baby aspirin--which acts as a blood thinner.
This time around the injections won't be as intense. I won't have to administer any of the shots in my belly (last time I was giving myself upwards of 4 shots per day). I will have to get two Intramuscular (IM) shots, instead of one, each day. That means big needles, and the shots go in the butt, people. Erik was the shot administer for me for those shots and will be this next time. I was reading through my journal and came across my entry for when we went to the "Shot Class" so we could learn how to administer all this medication.
So I share a flashback from my past:
January 2006
As we begin the invitro experience--we were required to attend a class to learn how to give shots or injections. Our class was at the DC office and there were two other couples.
The training basically consisted of learning how to read the dosage, draw the serum, and inject--some included mixing the serum and we were able to practice that as well as practice a bit of "sticking" a pad of rubber (like a pad of rubber is really like my belly or butt)--well, about halfway through the class, Erik turns to me and says,"Can you get me a glass of water?"
"WHAT!?! We are learning how *I* will be poked endlessly over the next 8 weeks and you want me to get you a GLASS OF WATER during the class?" is what I thought to myself.
I had no idea why I needed to do this because he was closest to the door. I said,"no."---and then I started to watch him. I had no idea that he was about to faint--luckily, he next asked the nurse who was teaching the class, and she immediately responded.
Poor Erik! He was pale and his lips were blue.
Despite the queasiness, he handled the 8+ weeks of IM shots like a champ! He is also the one in charge of working with the pharmacy to get the serums and needles. Most of the serum has to be "cooled" and in the fridge at all times. And, you also get to have one of those cool sharps (or needle) trashbins that you take back to the doctor when it is full.
Another flashback: I was working full time and participating in a fellowship when I went through IVF in 2006. I was pretty busy. I wanted to be. I wanted my life to be so full that if the IVF attempt was unsuccessful I wasn't wrapping who I was around that result.
This morning, after a late night for the fellowship, I was late getting to the bus stop. This morning was one of those mornings where the meetings and the load at work was stacked--grantee meetings scheduled, I was in charge of today's Brown Bag discussion, and I am still working on getting a document to clearance. I had to get to work ASAP. As I was parking my car at the bus stop, I saw that the bus to the Metro was pulling out to leave. Like any decent public transportation participant, I RAN to catch it . . .
. . . and then I had to stop because my butt hurt soooo bad. The bruises from the shots were so sensitive that RUNNING hurt me, really hurt. Standing there, watching the bus go by, and realizing how late I was going to be, I started laughing (my funny laugh, not my maniacal hysteria laugh). I laughed because who would even entertain the thought of telling the boss that "my butt was too sore to catch the bus" as the excuse for being late to work because I was seriously thinking about it.
