I mentioned my needing to get two shots twice weekly (one in the arm and one in the extra fleshy you-know-where).
Well, to spare the kids & me the 40-minute drive (one way) to the clinic on Mondays and Thursdays, my beloved has agreed to administer the needed hormones.
Do you hear that, Honey? I called you “My Beloved!”
And “Honey”, too. I called you “Honey!”
You’re not still mad about that speeding ticket, are you?
Seriously, I feel like a total guinea pig. My husband is not exactly well versed in all things hypodermic. I mean, the man’s a lawyer, for heaven’s sake!
I’m going to go write my last will and testament now. That much he can help me with, at least. The nurse stuff he’s going to have to fake.
So help me Advil.
*Updated the following morning to say: I hate to admit this, (Advent being a penitential season and all), but it wasn’t so bad. In fact, I hardly felt it!
Note that I said “hardly.”
My husband, being an attorney and therefore, thorough, spent a half an hour reading all the hand-outs and drawing imaginary targets on my backside before he even came at me with the needle.
He also practiced on an orange and had me do the same, which was weird at the same time it was…intriguing. Those 2-inch needles are sharp! To see them pop in up to the hilt like that is at best amazing and at worst, don’t-even-touch-me-I-mean-it-now quite unnerving.
Anyway, you would have thought he’d handled needles all his life he was so savvy.
Which leaves me wondering: Is there a side to my straight-laced husband that he hasn’t yet revealed to me? A past life he’s kept hidden?