No, not my husband. Although he is the one administering it.
When I first found out about my treatment options for MS, it was a daily shot or an every-other-day shot. No namby pamby pills for this disease (Oh, but wait! There are pills, too.). It’s hard-core you suck it up and give yourself a shot time.
And I was, admittedly, a little terrified. If by little you mean I was already saying, ‘Hey, let’s just not treat it and see what happens.’
We chose the every-other-day shot. Not because it was every other day, mind you, but because the drug is a little more aggressive.
I am not exaggerating when I say there are roughly eleventy thousand steps to getting this shot prepared. Right now I have a bum hand, so Nick has been deftly handling the alchemy of it all.
It requires mixing and measuring and stirring (not shaken, James Bond) and measuring some more and tapping and snapping and crying. And that’s all before the prick.
When I first explained all the steps to my dad, he asked if I was using heroin.
It’s become fairly routine now, a month in, but those first few shots were full of fear.
What if it bubbles or foams? (Bad things.)
What if there are crystals? (Again, bad.)
Thankfully, it’s only foamed up once.
But all of that putting together is just the prelude to the main event, one that I think Nick might be taking a little too much joy in. (He has become, quite literally, the pain in my ass, as the, ahem, bottom area is two of eight specified regions to administer the shot.)
The shot comes with an auto injector, which is a nifty device that does the sticking and pushing for you. Very handy. Still hurts like a sonofagun.
So every other night, we have our ritual: Put the nosy cats away, take Tylenol to dull the side effects (flu-like symptoms among them), and lay out the equipment.
Nick prepares the shot as I prepare myself for it. Ten minutes or so and we’re done, me massaging my newly sore spot and him putting away everything, including the needle into a sharps container (I now have biohazard material).
Sure, it is an inconvenience, this little prick.
But one that might save me, too.