Something NOT To Say While Helping Your Wife With Her PIO Shot

All is going well here. We got home fine, then jumped back into work, although I probably haven’t been as productive as I could be this week. I had some twinging, sharp-ish kinds of pains intermittently throughout Saturday afternoon and Sunday, so I’m hoping those were implantation cramps, but time will tell.

For some reason, I’ve started having a slightly tougher time with the shots. It reminds me of when I was in gymnastics while I was growing up. I’d learn to do a tough trick, like a backflip, without spotting from a coach. I’d do it for a few weeks, and then one day I’d regress. I’d walk into the gym and say, “Uh-uh, no way, too scary. I could fall and break my neck.”

I’ve run into a similar mindset with the shots. “I don’t want to stick this needle into me, it will hurt.”

The other night, R was helping me with the PIO shot. Laying on my side in bed, I tried to stick the needle in. I got the tip of it in, and it hurt. Ouch! I pulled it back out, and a drop of blood appeared on my skin.

R tried to be encouraging. “Here, why don’t you try that spot.” He pointed to an unbruised area of my backside.

“I. Don’t. Want. To. The last one really hurt.”

His eyes widened in surprise and fear. This was not something he had anticipated. “Oh, come on, you can do it.”

“I. Don’t Want. To.”

Now the fear turned into a look of terror. He was probably envisioning having to sit on me and jam the needle in himself.

Finally I worked up the courage and gave it another try. The needle went right in, no pain at all. As R was pushing in the plunger, he said, “Boy will I be glad when we don’t have to do this any more!”

I don’t know if it was his tone, or the absurdity of his use of “I” when it was me who was getting the shot, or just the emotions of the past couple of weeks rising to the surface. Whatever the reason, his comment struck me as outrageously humorous.

I began to laugh. Big, whole-body guffaws that made it look like I was having convulsions. While the needle was still in me, the syringe now waving madly back and forth.

R did not expect this reaction. His head snapped up. “Stop that! Stop that right now! You’re making the needle move!”

Which only served to make me laugh harder, until tears poured down my face. I tried to stop, tried to bring myself under control. Finally, when I had calmed down enough, I told him to continue pushing the plunger.

As soon as he started, the laughter began again. It took us about three minutes of starts and stops to get the last half of the PIO in. R has vowed never to make any more comments during the shots, lest he trigger a repeat performance of the hilarity.