follow me home: March 2019

Today’s post is a writing challenge created by Karen @ Baking in A Tornado. This is how it works: 10 participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge! Oh, and no one participating knows who received their words or in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

peanut butter, stool, shoes, polyester, donuts

They were submitted by the lovely Rena @https://theblogging911.com/blog

Among the plethora of auto-immune issues I've been blessed with, about 3 years ago, my doctors added "Ulcerative Colitis" to the pile. Since my teenage years, I'd always had "belly problems," but I thought every worried-kid who was trying to get through life was dealing with the same issues. I've taken many prescription meds since then. I've also tried over-the-counter meds, gluten-free diets, dairy-free diets, no food diets, cleanses, crying on cold bathroom floors; everything I could think 0f, but nothing helped.

After lots of blood tests and a colonoscopy, my medical team decided it was time to try Humira. If you've turned on the radio or television in the last few years for even 30 minutes, you know what Humira is. It started out as a Crohn's, UC, and Psoriasis treatment. Now apparently, it treats everything but splinters. (kind of joking). Despite the MANY side effects of the drug, I figured I had nothing to lose besides severe belly problems. You thought I was going to use the word "stool"somewhere in here, didn't you? Nope. TMI.

The main problem of this medicine for me? Humira is an injection. Needles and I have never gotten along well, so I was pretty terrified. Another downside? The starter pack begins with FOUR (!) injections to, wait for it: the belly.

Here is the story of how the man and I dealt with that first dose.

First dose: 4 injections. Seven days later: 2 injections. One injection every week after.

Day One (What observers saw)

(People looking out from the hospital window, probably.)

Person 1: "OMG! Look at that poor man lying on the ground!"

Person 2: "Why is that woman not helping him?"

Person 3: " Why is that woman KICKING him?"

Person 4: "If I didn't have this IV, I'd call 911!"

Person 3: "I'll do it!"

An hour earlier on the ride to the doctor.

Me: "Thanks for taking me to this. How can I be scared to death AND starving at the same time? I hope this spoonful of peanut butter will be enough. I don't want to have a full stomach until it's over."

The Man: "No worries, you're going to be great. When it's done, I'll take you for donuts."

Me: "Haha! What am I, three years old? If I'm well behaved, I get a treat?"

The man: "Well, we don't have to..."

Me: "Shush. I want donuts."

In the office, I lift my polyester shirt and get ready for the pain. The very calm doctor rolls over close to me on her stool.

The Doctor: "Sit back and get comfortable. Take your shoes off if you'd like. You're going to be fine. It burns like a bee-sting, but just for a bit. I'll do three and you'll try the last one." (I got scared and messed it up, so the doctor decided to do the last one with the man. She wanted him to see how it's done, in case I couldn't stab myself.) "Your husband sure is supportive!"

Me: "He really is. But, I have to tell you- he doesn't love needles. I don't like them because I bleed all over or somebody can't find a vein. When he sees needles, he tends to get dizzy and faint.

The Doctor: "How do you know that?"

Me: "This isn't our first rodeo, Doc."(This wasn't even the first time I said, 'This isn't our first rodeo.' to a doctor.)

The Doctor: "Aw, maybe he just doesn't like seeing you get hurt".

Me: "Yeah, maybe..."

The man ends up learning how to do the injection and carefully stabs me. (my words.)

Leaving the office, the man grabs his keys and proudly declares he's fine.

The man: "How are you doing?"

Me: "I'm kind of sore but I think I was more nervous than I was in pain. How are you? Listen, I really appreciate you driving me home. I don't know how I would have done this without..."

Me: (after a thud) "OMG! Are you kidding me? I can't bend over!!"

Me, trying to roll the man so I can grab his keys. I'm pushing him over with my leg because I can not bend over due to the (not sure if I have mentioned this,) FOUR SHOTS to MY BELLY!

Finally, ME driving the sweet man home, still semi-happy that he went with me. Happier still, that I didn't get arrested for domestic abuse. Happiest because, despite any pain, I'm ALWAYS capable of getting my own donuts.