Saturday, November 14, 2009

BabyGate - Part 7

The morning of the day David was to stab me in the stomach with our first injection of fertility goodness, I had to take a pregnancy test. This is standard procedure. Depressing. We knew we weren't pregnant, but just like everything else, the doctors wanted to make sure insult was thoroughly mixed with injury. Shaken, not stirred.

When it was time, I pretended like nothing was going to happen that evening. Maybe I would be cooking and bloop! David stabs me in the stomach and I serve dinner!
When David got home from work, he stood at our kitchen counter carefully mixing and combining the liquids with the powders while I stirred a lovely chicken sauce on the stove. I got an ice cube and held it on my belly in the spot he would stab me. I stood, stirring and icing, waiting for the panic attack to set in.
And then, David turned around with a syringe bearing the longest needle I’d ever seen. It was longer than my arm. I gasped and shouted, “THAT’S NOT THE RIGHT NEEDLE!”
David responded calmly. “Yes it is, sweetie. It’s the same need the nurse showed us in the office.” Mind you, the nurse clearly stated that the needle should be plunged IN ITS ENTIRETY into my stomach. If that needle went all the way into my stomach, he would have injected hormones directly into my uterus. It was THAT long.
I started hyperventilating. This can’t be right! You cannot give a man permission to stab his wife with a needle that long! I dropped the ice cube (which Charlie promptly ate), and I started rummaging through the boxes on my kitchen counter. I pulled out bags of extra syringes and all sized little glass jars. I frantically looked through every baggie and small box, praying that the needle in my husband’s hands was the wrong need.

And guess what?

David didn’t read the baggie he took the needle from, and the baggie happened to be for the BIG SHOT that I wasn’t supposed to get for another week! My husband was about to skewer me like so much teriyaki beef on the BIG SHOT! THIS IS WHY HUSBANDS SHOULD NEVER GIVE THEIR WIVES SHOTS IN THE KITCHEN!
I was very upset, not just about nearly becoming a human kabob, but because of what this little mistake might have cost us. There was currently $160 of liquid floating in a little syringe with the wrong needle on top. How the hell were we going to get the liquid into the right syringe with the right needle? Was it possible to transport the liquid out of the wrong needle, through the right needle, and down into a new syringe?! Can you siphon it out with a bendy straw? Do you run to the hospital with the syringe in your hand and scream, “My husband isn’t a doctor and tried to be one in my kitchen!”? WHAT DOES SOMEONE DO IN THIS SITUATION?
While I panicked, David stayed very calm. He held the syringe in one hand while sifting through the pile of needles on the counter. He picked up the right needle and looked at it carefully. He then looked back at the BIG SHOT, studying both of them. And in a moment of brilliance, he carefully unscrewed the BIG SHOT from the syringe and replaced it with a smaller needle, without losing a drop of fertility goodness. Syringes now come with screw top needles. Finally the medical world is taking cues from the wine world.

When the correct needle was in place, I leaned back against the counter and closed my eyes. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, just do it.”
David squeezed a little hunk of flesh on my belly.
“Deep breath.”
He took a short breath and started to count. Counting is the last thing I wanted him to be doing at this moment. But it was happening and before I could shout, “STOP COUNTING!”, my brain interrupted with the thought that David could drop the syringe if I screamed or he could accidentally stab me straight through the belly button and THEN where would we be?!
In all that thinking, it was over. I was red and sweaty and breathing really fast, but it was over. We had just successfully completed our first injectable. We both took a deep breath.
“You were so calm,” I told Dave.
“Well, of course, babe. You needed me to be calm. I’m here for you.”
I smiled and sat down in a chair, staring at the injection site on my belly. I quietly rejoiced in how lucky I am to have a man who has the foresight to know how to deal with stressful situations. Never once did he lose his cool or allow my stress levels to make him nervous. I am truly blessed.
Then David said, “Man. That was really scary, huh? I almost peed my pants!”

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