Thursday, June 3, 2010

To have, to hold, to stick needles into

So - trying to be vague (personal reasons) while still telling a story that I know I'll laugh at one day - last night I was supposed to give myself a shot.

Truth: I don't do shots. I finally have gotten to the place where I'll let a medical professional give me a shot... but I think your body has some sort of fundamental survival mode that doesn't allow you to stick needles into your own flesh. For good reason, I think.
So anyway, I had spent a few days giving myself pep-talks about how "it won't be a big deal, it's not going to hurt, etc." But every time I even thought about the needle I'd freak myself out.

I finally decided that Chad was going to have to give me the shot. He gives himself allergy shots every other week, so it's NBD to him. I actually think he was looking forward to an idea of sticking me in the abdomen (yes, had to get the shot in my stomach. AH! aren't you freaking out just thinking about it?)

So I told Chad that 7 p.m. was shot time. It took all my willpower to just move forward with it. So I'm lying on our bed waiting... and waiting... and waiting...as he decides (as I swear he does on purpose) to take his sweet time and go start a load of laundry, wander from room to room aimlessly, etc. The longer I wait, the more I start freaking out... so I beg him to hurry up and get it over with.

I'm lying there taking deep breaths... thinking I'm doing pretty good... and I open my eyes and see Chad standing over me with a big ol' needle. I FLIPPED out. Burst out crying. Hysterically panting.

I must have said "No, no, no, no" repeatedly for a few seconds.

Chad promises me it won't hurt, I won't even feel it, it'll be over with before I even know I have a big piece of metal sticking me in the skin to pump me with medicine.

I calm down a bit and let him proceed. He gets within inches of my stomach and I start crying, shrieking, freaking out again.

Me: "OMG I canNOT do this."
Chad (tapping the needle to get the air bubbles out): "Stop Carrie, it's going to be fine."
Me: "No no no. What if I get an embolism from an air bubble. I could die." (this girl has watched "Grey's Anatomy" and "House"... I know my medical info.)
Chad: "First, it's not even going directly into the bloodstream. Second, it's a tiny little amount. It's not going to do anything."
(more tears and shrieking ensues)
Me: "Okay just hurry. Don't tell me when you're doing it."

Then I inspect to make sure he's aiming at the proper area of my abdomen, and then squeeze my eyes shut.

So he did it. It didn't hurt. But still - it was terrifying. I've been giving myself the heeby-jeebies all day just thinking about him standing over me with a syringe. It was like a not-cool, super creepy episode of "Dexter."

What, three TV show references in one post too much?

Whatevs.

But it's over and done with. Sheesh. The things you end up having to do for the ones you love.

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