Our adventures with PIO

I think I forgot to blog about our mini adventure with PIO with our canceled cycle. I shall recap because I think it's funny. As previously noted I am doing all my own injections because of Paul's travel schedule. I conquered the sub-q's. In fact, after doing them for almost 12 weeks straight, they've actually gotten a little dull. So, when I was to do my first PIO last time I was just as nervous as I had been when I had to do my first lupron injection. I drew up the PIO and changed needle tips and just stared at that giant needle. It made me shiver. I was terrified. I would take off the tip and aim. And then I would shrink away in fear only to recap the needle. This went on for forty five minutes. Yep, you read that right. Forty five minutes I paced back and forth in my bedroom. And every five or so minutes I would yell at Paul to come in and tell me how to do the injection. Again. He's so patient. And then I would banish him. Actually, more like scream at him to get out of my bedroom. He was stressing me out. And then call him back. And then banish him. It's really pretty remarkable that he spoke to me at all after that. Now, more than an hour after this process had started I finally got up the nerve to poke myself. Such an idiot, I am. An inch and a half needle is not any bigger deal than a sub-q needle. Only the initial poke hurts. I should know this by now. So, after the initial shock of sticking a giant needle in my backside wore off I decided the purpose of this fun little exercise was to actually get the drugs into me. And I reached around to attempt to push the top of that little syringe down. It wouldn't budge. At all. It felt like I was pushing against a vacuum. Wait! I thought the hard part was over, right? Apparently not. I tried and tried all to no avail. Damn! I was going to have to ask Paul to come in and save the day. You see, this is why you shouldn't bite the hand that injects you. Or whatever. Thankfully because this needle is so freaking long I didn't have to stay contorted into a crazy position in order to leave the needle in. It stayed in all on its own. When Paul came into our bedroom to investigate the problem, and discovered me with my pants at my ankles, tears of frustration on my cheeks, and a sad little smile of defeat. This should hopefully demonstrate what a wonderful husband he is. He did not laugh. He did not smirk. He did not tell me to get over it. He just smiled, gave me a kiss, and told me sometimes it just takes a while and that he was proud of me for doing it. Good man, don't you think?

Last night was our first PIO for this frozen cycle. And I was a little nervous but that first shot is always the hardest. And we had already done that. So last night was only about ten minutes of pacing and panicking and avoidance technique behavior before I got around to doing it. And I even was able to push the medicine down. We have victory, my friends. Yeah, I know. I'm not the first person to do PIO and I certainly won't be the last and many others have done this and so much more but it feels like such an accomplishment. Especially doing it myself. I wonder if I can learn to draw my own blood. Hmmm.