There’s nothing quite like waking up in the AM to find a needle in your ass. Oh, how we have missed this. Did that sound sarcastic? It probably didn’t sound as sarcastic as it felt. I would expect to feel promise and excitement and oh I don’t know…. hope? today, but I can’t say that I do. After a week of estrogen and a good-looking ultrasound, it’s time to get things going. Time to bring in the big, progesterone filled guns. The needle means we are getting closer and that usually serves to balance the very real anxiety I have about the whole scene, but not today.
I HATE this part. I hate the needle itself, I hate holding it in my hand, I hate the way it feels when it goes into her skin, I hate hearing the little sound she tries not to make bc the progesterone hurts going in, I hate that the fact that I have to do it pops into my mind at random moments throughout the day and creates a real feeling of panic, I REALLY hate the 30 minutes or so right before when my hand feels shaky. I just hate it. Simple as that.
Instead of reigning in my anxiety by reminding myself of how close we are getting to our baby, today all I can see are reminders of how long this process feels. The Rx bottle in the medicine cabinet with a June date, the realization that we probably need to get a new Sharps container soon bc ours is very close to full, the fact that it’s getting hard to remember what my wife was like without all of these hormones, the frequent grumbling about the weight she’s gained in order to get pregnant that is presently doing nothing but making her body feel like it’s not hers, etc. The list goes on and I’m not sure that writing it down is doing anything but creating more pissiness.
So I guess all I really have to say is…… GRRRRRRRR!!!!!! and hmpf.