Thanks to all who commented for the ideas and commiseration on the Blogger woes. I'll definitely be researching the other free services.
So, I started the Lupron shots yesterday. I'm to inject them in the upper-inner thigh gloop--of which I have plenty, thank you gorgonzola--each morning at around 9:30. Actually, I should clarify that I don't have the spine to do the shots myself (the damn thing is still missing; not even a post card), so J. mans the syringe while I offer up a piece of pinched flab and close my eyes like the big-ass chicken I know myself to be.
Now, the needle is tiny, even by my sharp-phobic standards, and it can't be more than half an inch long. It's also wisp-thin, hardly thicker than one of my more robust hair shafts. But for some reason, it just does not want to slip cleanly and quietly into my thigh. Instead, it stings for a second as it starts to press into the flesh, then makes a rather horrid popping sound when it penetrates, reminiscent of the vacuum seal pop as someone in another room opens a fresh bottle of Snapple.
Don't get me wrong: it doesn't really hurt, just stings a little. Even I, Queen of the Wusses, can't complain of pain. But the sound is a mite disturbing. Pop! Like I have a tough leather hide that has to be muscled through.
J. has shown great skill in his past needlework--only had one small bruise from the dozen Gonal-F and Follistim shots he so expertly administered back in January. I can't figure why this would be any different, except that he's working with a different patch of fat. He's coming in from the right angle, and he doesn't seem to be taking it too slowly. Sure hope he hasn't lost his injectibles touch, as it looks like we'll be up to a full four daily shots*--yes, I said four--starting March 25th.
*Was to have been three, but, according to my IVF coordinator, Repronex can't be mixed with Follistim in the same way it can be combined with Gonal-F (something to do with the way they package the drugs for mixing? I didn't get the whole story.). Gonal-F is not on my insurance company's formulary, and they haven't yet been persuaded to make an exception. And, you know, what the hell, what's one more shot when you're already reminiscent of a Christmas orange? (Do you know what I'm talking about? It's a winter Valencia poked full of whole cloves till the fruity sphere is nearly covered in aromatic brown bits. Then you hang it in your kitchen and it fools the neighbors into thinking you've baked a pumpkin pie. Did everyone make Christmas oranges in kindergarten, or was it just me and my super-kooky school?)