Needles and Suppositories

Thought that post title would be a grabber. Ah, the wonders of needles and suppositories. I know you are all dying to hear the details. And I would never disappoint because my goal is to let you into the glamorous world of multiple miscarriage and wacky freaky things we must do to our bodies and our selves to try to hold on to this microscopic alien inside.

As the time drew near for my first injection of Lovenox (similar to Heparin - a blood thinner), I went into a cozy state of denial. Needle? In me? Nah, couldn't be. I'm the one who threatens to kick the woman who draws my blood and she thinks I'm joking. When I say "Needles are not my favorite things" or "I'm terrified of needles," I'm being dead serious.

So I hand over the pre-dosed sterile needle to my wildlife biologist husband who has assured me that years injecting wild animals with sedation and injecting himself one time in Africa with epinephran when he was having an allergic reaction, makes him perfectly suited to poke his wife with a hypodermic.

I start to panic as we stand in our bathroom, G. with needle in hand like a mad scientist, me pinching an inch on my abdomen, preparing to receive the injection.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, I have to call my sister," I exclaim, running to get the cellphone and dialing her number. She is going to school in Portland for naturopathic medicine so I'm sure she has studied injections. She Googles "subcutaneous injections" and reads the instructions to us, step by step.

I start wiggling around and dancing, fancy footwork helping me to avoid the needle in G.'s hand.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, I'm not ready," I say, signs of hyperventilation creeping up.

My sister's voice comes over the cellphone speakerphone.

"Breathe slowly, in through your nose, out through your mouth."

"I'm breathing, I'm breathing," I say and G. approaches me with the needle.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," I say again and dance away from him, panicked like a caged animal looking for my escape. In my head I'm thinking "I gotta do it. I gotta do it."

"Are you sitting?" my sister asks. "I think it is better if you sit down. Your abdominal muscles relax."

I sit on the toilet. My stomach muscles do relax. I'm still pinching an inch, but this is no Special K commercial. This is proof that I'll never be a needle junkie. Never.

"Ready?" G. asks, poised with this enormous, gigantic needle of doom.

"No. I mean yes. No, no, no, okay do it," I stare at the needle for a moment even though he tells me not to look. It has a teeny tiny drop of liquid at its tip. It is salivating.

I start groaning or squealing or making some sort of animal sound and try, try, try to relax.

"Your going to feel a sting," he says and sure enough, the stinging prick of needle in skin. Fuck. Stop it now. Stop it now.

"Stop stop stop stop!" I chant over and over, with increasing volume and higher and higher pitch.

He is slowly pushing in the plunger. I can feel the fluid crawling under my skin, gurgling like an alien being.

"Faster! Faster!" I order him and a few excruciatingly long moments later, the needle is out.

That wasn't such a big deal.

But you say I need to do this again? And every day for the next 8+ months if I can hold onto this pregnancy?

This is going to be fun.

Oh yeah, the suppository part - progesterone (Prometrium) shoved up my vagina. That's a piece of cake compared to needles. Bring it on!