My Husband is Trying to Kill Me

I am going on week four or five of having to do progesterone and estrogen shots. You would think my husband would be used to this by now. I mean, he can practically be a nurse at this point! But no. I am not sure if my bottom is just getting tired, or my husband is getting tired, but he seems to hit all the wrong places, sometimes leaving really bad bruises, or sometimes resulting in my having to sit on an ice pack for the rest of the night.

Tonight takes the cake, though.

So, tonight was one of my progesterone AND estrogen nights. I only take estrogen every third night. So, I get ready for the two shots. How does one get ready, you might ask? Well, you stand up, bend a little bit, and turn both your feet in toward each other. This relaxes your butt muscles so the needle hurts less.

Here I am, looking all bow-legged and hunched over, and my husband goes to give me the first shot, which he picks the estrogen, the easiest of the two because it comes out of the syringe better than the PIO, and it's much less than the PIO.

Shot goes in. I flinch because it wasn't the best deliverance, but it wasn't the worst.

Until my husband pulls the needle out. Blood literally squirted right out of my butt cheek and into the air and all over the floor. He very calmly says, "It's squirting. The blood." And here I am, trying to staunch it with a tiny alcohol wipe, but I can't see where it is bleeding, since its behind me and all. So I start blurting, "Where is it? Am I on it?"

"Yes."

Meanwhile, there is blood all over the floor. And my pants. And my hand.

While I am trying to stop the bleeding, my lovely husband suggests doing the second shot.

...I really think he's trying to kill me.

But I love him.

I could totally be done with these shots, though. Ugh.