I had to mix my own dose of FSH yesterday evening. I had a 300 IU redi-pen from my doctor’s office and a 600 IU multi-dose vial from the pharmacy, which you have to mix, prep, and fill the syringe yourself. It was cheaper that way. So, yesterday was my first dose from the vial.
It wasn’t difficult, but I think I psyched myself up about it too much. First of all, there’s always an irrational fear that you’re going to kill yourself injecting strange things into your person. At least, there is with me.
Is that an air bubble? Did I sterilize the needle enough? Better smother it in alcohol again. FREAKING AIR BUBBLES I’M GUNNA GIVE MYSELF AN EMBOLISM!!!
See? Completely irrational. I had to remind myself over and over that they don’t just pass out syringes without some method in place to idiot-proof the dosing.
And idiot-proof they did, in the form of a full color, two page instruction sheet with a step by step guide on how to not kill yourself with follitropin injections. They didn’t word it like that, but I read between the lines.
I got the vial out of the fridge and warmed it up a bit in my hand (no more icy cold burning hot lava, thanks). Then I shot the liquidy-stuff into the powdery-stuff, made sure it was clear, and popped open my first syringe.
The needles were bigger than the pre-filled ones.
Holy Crap.
Not hamster-to-kangaroo bigger, but when you’re dealing with needles and you HATE needles, any subtle change induces a minor freak-out. Insert minor freak-out here.
My old needles were 29 gauge. See? Really small. These new needles were 27 gauge. Slightly less small…more like hamster-to-morbidly-obese-hamster-with-his-little-cheek-pouches-stuffed-full-of-popcorn.
I didn’t know if I could do this. On the one hand, my husband is standing there swearing the needles are the same size and calling me a weenie. I wanted to cram one in his eye.
I didn’t, I promise.
On the other hand… a couple days ago, the difference between 100 IU and 150 IU had me reliving tequila shooters from my bachelorette party. So I’m in new territory here. Boldly going and all that.
I could do this. I HAD to do this. I am WOMAN, dammit. If I couldn’t inject myself with a slightly-less-than-tiny needle, how could I handle an epidural? Or childbirth in general, for that matter?
So I prepped my injection site. Next to the belly button, off to the left; swabbed down with alcohol.
Then I prepped it again. I wasn’t stalling. Not really.
I go to slide it in…and it won’t go in. I’m getting dizzy now. Q is standing there all sexy and smirky, I have the site prepped, but the stupid needle won’t go in. This is nuts. I’m used to easing them in no problem, like a warm knife through butter. But this needle WON’T FREAKING PIERCE MY SKIN!!
I close my eyes and shove. And shove harder, all the while thinking how painful the injection will be when it eventually pierces my skin. Finally, I feel a weird little pop and it’s in my belly.
Huh.
I open my eyes and see the little syringe just hanging out like some emo belly ring and I get really dizzy, even before I press the plunger and shoot the follitropin in there. So I did what any red-blooded American woman would do. I shoved down the plunger, ground my teeth, and waited for the worst.
The worst came in a rush of icy cold burning hot lava (what the hell? I thought it was warm enough), and then a really disgusting squishy sensation when I removed the syringe. Slowly. Like an idiot.
I seriously swooned. I remember thinking that was gross and then…hey there, linoleum.
And lastly… wow, we should really sweep the kitchen.
Good thing my husband was standing there smirking, because I went DOWN. He got an ice pack and put it on my head, and I just laid there on my kitchen floor, wondering what the heck just happened.
I was fine after a bit, but between psyching myself out about the bigger needle and the head rush from the FSH…I needed a minute or three.
Then I was all like, “DID YOU SEE THAT?!?! HELL YEAH!!! I AM WOMAN!!! I CAN DO ANYTHING!!!”
Crushed it!
My Stork Got Lost 