Tuesday, June 24, 2008

It's official: I'm certifiable

I created a post many a moon ago about taking progesterone in my first trimester. I believe I used the words "holy progesterone, batman" and said it was irritating.

I knew not what I spoke of.

I started P17 shots last week (hydroxprogesterone, for the pharmaceutical nuts among my three fans). These shots have been shown to significantly reduce the risk of preterm labor, so they are an obvious choice for me.

Never could I have imagined the purgatory (and I'm not Catholic) I currently find myself in.

First, the shot itself. Being the good little (har) Google girl that I am, I dutifully researched this drug prior to the administration of my first shot.

Totally freaked myself out!?!

Site after site I found women moaning about the pain. The size of the needle. That knots left under the skin. On and on and on it went until I was quite certain I would require a brown paper bag while waiting for the nurse to bring mine in the room (to breathe into).

Have I mentioned I'm scared of needles? Yes, I realize I've been stuck with more then my fair share, but the fear is still there. Deal.

Quick flashback. Eight years ago when I was in the hospital after my water broke, they began to talk about a betamethosone shot I would receive to help mature AM's lungs. Each EXTREMELY HELPFUL person that came in my room told me "the shot is very painful, because it's packed in oil and they have to use a big needle".

By the time the day arrived for my first shot (and what ended up being my last shot....delivered before I got the second), I was wholly terrified. I vividly remember wrapping my body around several pillows (for many pillows are a pregnant woman's best friend) and, uh, not exactly cooperating.

The nurse started to reassure me "oh, it's not that bad. You'll be just fine." Uh, uh sister. All your little sadistic friends told me how bad this shot was. Too late to back track now.

I had the shot and it wasn't horrible.

Back to modern day. THIS shot is also packed in oil and while I had my previous experience under my belt (proving it to be less horrifying then promised), I was still apprehensive.

Long story short. I didn't have to hug any pillows (there weren't any) and I didn't scream or cry or otherwise make a food of myself. I didn't even FEEL the first shot. The second one stung a little, but nothing unbearable.

Piece. oh. cake, thought I. Right?

Holy laughter ensued and God looked down at my naivety.

Last week I skated through the days following "the shot". Until about day five.

What happened on day five, you ask.

On day five, I found myself crying over my kitchen sink. I couldn't tell you the reason now, nor could I have told you the reason then.

Day six brought another crying jag after the cat, yes the cat, bit me. He was playing with MotH and nipped my arm. Barely left the smallest of dents. I cried like he'd broken my heart.

The cat.

This past Monday (a.k.a. yesterday) brought shot number two. I'm an old pro now, right, so I know what to expect this time.

Joke's on me. Again. (If only I were capable of laughing right now.)

I'm not going to lie to you. This one burned a little. The nurse asked "are you okay". Well, other then the needle stuck in my BUTTOCK......."I'm fine", I say.

I left thinking "okay, that one hurt a little more then last time, but it's alright. I'm a tough cookie. Ain't gonna bring ME down."

Plus I have at least five more days before the irrational crying starts, right?

(There's a theme here and I'll give you a hint. When I say "right", you can be certain I'm about to prove how wrong I am. Oh the irony.)

Woke up this morning to a rather sore fanny. It got progressively worse. But that's not the super fun part. No, the SUPER FUN (!) part was when I grossly overreacted on the phone with MotH. Even funner (is that a word?)? Actually started to tear up BECAUSE MY CAR NEEDED GAS!

And tired. Oh my gosh, I don't think I've ever been this tired. This makes the first trimester (and, okay, the second trimester) sleepiness look like........ I don't know but something not very tired. Maybe someone after a Starbucks binger (assuming one could afford a Starbucks binger).

I think my fingernails actually fell asleep I was so tired. I know I couldn't think of the word for "table" and ended up calling it the "flat thing we eat off of", which earned me a sideways glance from MotH.

At one time my tongue was so heavy with fatigue that I could barely speak. Breathing took more effort then I felt I had left to give.

This was by 3pm this afternoon.

So now it's 8:41 p.m. and I'm blogging.

My butt still hurts (both sides right now, thanks to sciatic nerve pain on the non-shot side).

I'm emotionally unstable.

MotH is hiding in the garage (see preceding point for the reason he finds it necessary to hide).

All of this is sooooo worth it if it gets me closer to full-term. I know that and I believe that.

I just wish I got to enjoy this a little more.

Oh, I should mention that I will get these delightful little doses of oil-based goodness every week until I'm at or near full-term.

Let the good times roll. Just don't roll too close to me or I might cry.

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