In Full Bloom
The blood test confirms that I am ripe for the plucking, but for some reason, the clinic waited until the very last minute to call me with this vital information. I understand that they do a thousand of these and they are very busy and such, but I feel like if I am going to have game changing instructions (needle kick in the ass included), I would like a bit of notice.
In preparation for the shot I had enlisted the support of my dear friend to administer the all important trigger shot which in case I haven't been clear is completed with a "dart-like motion" straight into the upper quadrant of the rear. Now needles and I have come to terms with each other. We aren't friends, but we have a mutual respect. I have learned how to handle them with minimal pain, but putting one in my backside isn’t high on my list of challenges to tackle right at this moment. So J, an ER doctor, graciously agreed to a literal bootie call when the deed needed to be done. We were going to make social gathering out of it – Dinner and an Injection Part II: Bad Moon on the Rise.
Back to Tuesday evening: I get a 6:30 pm call telling me that the shot has to be administered at exactly 12:15 am. And that I was to return to the clinic at 6:30 am for the usual poke and prod andthe pre-op instructions. (When exactly I am supposed to sleep?) Friend that she is, J was still willing to do it, but I couldn’t see trying to meet up at midnight for this. So instead of a board certified physician, I had someone who was certifiable give it to me. We turned in early and set the alarm so my husband could bust a cap in my ass. Matthew was worried that he would be too groggy to do it right. I helpfully offered to prick him with one of my syringes to wake him up. To be honest, it wasn’t that bad. I hardly felt it and was able to drift back to sleep in under an hour which didn’t appear likely.
At 5:50 my chauffeured car arrived to whisk me to Manhattan. It was an unfair hour, but predawn colors were appearing over the East River, and they city that I love was still and quiet and showing her best side.
In preparation for the shot I had enlisted the support of my dear friend to administer the all important trigger shot which in case I haven't been clear is completed with a "dart-like motion" straight into the upper quadrant of the rear. Now needles and I have come to terms with each other. We aren't friends, but we have a mutual respect. I have learned how to handle them with minimal pain, but putting one in my backside isn’t high on my list of challenges to tackle right at this moment. So J, an ER doctor, graciously agreed to a literal bootie call when the deed needed to be done. We were going to make social gathering out of it – Dinner and an Injection Part II: Bad Moon on the Rise.
Back to Tuesday evening: I get a 6:30 pm call telling me that the shot has to be administered at exactly 12:15 am. And that I was to return to the clinic at 6:30 am for the usual poke and prod andthe pre-op instructions. (When exactly I am supposed to sleep?) Friend that she is, J was still willing to do it, but I couldn’t see trying to meet up at midnight for this. So instead of a board certified physician, I had someone who was certifiable give it to me. We turned in early and set the alarm so my husband could bust a cap in my ass. Matthew was worried that he would be too groggy to do it right. I helpfully offered to prick him with one of my syringes to wake him up. To be honest, it wasn’t that bad. I hardly felt it and was able to drift back to sleep in under an hour which didn’t appear likely.
At 5:50 my chauffeured car arrived to whisk me to Manhattan. It was an unfair hour, but predawn colors were appearing over the East River, and they city that I love was still and quiet and showing her best side.
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