***Warning: there are a lot of F-Bombs in this post. Read at your own risk.***
I took my first progesterone (PIO) shot tonight. Tahd gave it to me. That sucker is big! The needle is an inch and a half long and looks like a dowel. The sub-q needles were so small you could hardly see the hole where the medication comes out. These needles? I could shove a whole meal down there. Easily!
First, I iced the spot (my derriere). Next, I yelled at Tahd. He kept showing me where he was going to administer the shot. I felt his desired location was on my hip bone. We argued and argued over where the top of my butt crack was in conjunction with the edge of my hip bone. Fun. I know he’s my husband and all, but normally when he sees my butt the lights are lower and his attentions are… *ahem* elsewhere. Anyway, that’s when I remembered the whole “nerve experiment” from elementary school. The one where someone else touches your back, either with one or two fingers, and you have to guess how many fingers the person is using. It’s surprisingly difficult. If they were touching your arm while your eyes were closed, you’d be accurate even without seeing them because the nerves on your arm are closer together than they are on your back. But the distance between the nerve endings on your back makes touch there deceiving.
Now you’re poking your back, aren’t you?
Anyway, I realized my perception of where he was going to give my shot was different than where he was actually going to give me my shot. I yelled a little more for good measure and then let him administer it.
I intended that he count to three and then poke me. He said, “You wanna count?” I said no, I didn’t want to count. I wanted him to count. Next thing I know, there’s a needle in my butt. Commence more yelling.
Me: Dude! You were supposed to count? Why the fuck did you just shove a needle into me without counting? I told you to count!
Him: I did count.
Me: Like fuck you counted!
Him: Yes, I did! I counted to myself!
Me: What?!?? I don’t give a fuck if you count to yourself. I wanted the count for my benefit!
Him: I asked you if you wanted me to count?
Me: No, you asked me if *I* wanted to count.
Him: No, I asked you if you wanted *a* count.
Me: No, you said, “Do you wanna count?”
Him: No, I said, “Do you want a count?”
Keep in mind much of this conversation took place with a needle hanging out of my butt.
It took a little while to dispense this medication because it’s suspended in olive oil, which means the consistency is thicker than the other medications I’ve used. This is also why the needle has a bigger hole – faster administration. Which I suppose is good, but much more intimidating.
Anyway, once the needle was out I muttered something about him being inarticulate and he agreed and then proceeded to argue and I told him he just shoved a fucking needle in my ass and I was right. It didn’t matter what he said. I was right. Needle trumps all.
Thankfully, he agreed. And I went and sat on a heating pad.
Truth be told, it didn’t end up hurting that much. Either the ice numbed it or my husband is good at this or a little of both. And my many f-bombs were good natured. Because, you know, sometimes tone doesn’t translate on the internet and this whole PIO experience was really a barrel of laughs. I promise you would have been laughing at us had you been here.
