"L" is for LOSER ...

A while back I reported on Facebook, discouraged, that my doctor had reported that my Mono virus (Epstein Barr) was higher than it was when we originally tested six weeks earlier even though I was on a heavy dose of anti-viral medication. What I didn’t mention was how I got the news.

When any labs are drawn, I have a phone number I call. I enter my doctor’s code, then my own code and see if I have any messages. Sometimes I forget to do this, but since I go in monthly, I can just get the information then. I was antsy for the results so I called the number. My doctor proceeded to tell me that the Epstein Barr was higher and that she recommended I start “xyz” injections. That was the entirety of the message and I was frustrated, and a bit confused.

What about the HHV-6? Was it under control?

What about my ATP level? And wasn’t THAT what the “xyz” injections were for? This injection has nothing to do with a virus – just the immune system … thus my confusion.

And just for fun – how far, this time, is my T-Cell count from that ‘death’ line you always like to show me is oh, so very close to my number … ALWAYS?

Hmmm?

Well, since it was a message, I could not ask. She is super busy and her staff protects her and there was very little chance I was going to be able to talk to her so I made an appointment to get to the bottom of her contradictory comment.

Today was the appointment.

First the GOOD NEWS: I was right! The “xyz” injection is to improve your ATP levels, thus your energy level (on a cellular level). She had spaced out and when speaking with her she says she is always prescribing it and just totally messed up.

The BAD NEWS: Her new course of treatment ALSO requires an injection. Luckily the injection is just once a week.

This is when I sort of freaked out because ever since I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease in 2000 I have been getting more and more phobic of needles. I had a pretty good reason – they wanted to start a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line in my arm to give me the IV medication to try to kill the Lyme Disease since I was in very late stage and it was running rampant in my body and my immune system was already compromised – I was well beyond the ‘usual’ regimen of a month of oral antibiotics.

A nurse would come to our house and the fun would begin. In 2000 Jessie would have been twelve, but she became very wary of these nurses and wanted to sit and watch and tell the nurses to “not hurt my mom”. The first time the attempt was horrific – it is a rather large needle since it needs to be large enough to shove the catheter through it and ‘thread’ it to a location close to the heart. My veins are crappy and after two attempts on each arm, I was a sweating, bloody mess. After the first attempt, Gary fled with the children and went to McDonalds or something – the man does not like blood and leaves the ER every time they have to start an IV on me since it is rather difficult and he is squeamish about it.

They came back a few days later determined to get it started so I could start the IV treatment. My arms were a mess but we had to try. Gary again took the kids and fled – this time before any attempt.

Things are rather blurry about this whole ‘Getting the damn PICC line in’ and I don’t remember what they did to me, but we hit something on one arm and there was blood EVERYWHERE. All over me, the nurse, the floor … and Gary walked in with the kids. I screamed for them to NOT come in, but I am pretty sure that Jessie saw before Gary drug them both out the door again and went … I have no idea where. It really affected her and after that whenever a nurse came, she would INSIST on sitting in a chair and watch what was happening or she would freak out.

I was deemed an unfit candidate for a PICC line in the arm, and the next day was put under general anesthesia and a line was inserted into my chest – I believe it was called a ‘Central Venous Catheter’ and I started on my IV meds … up until I went into anaphylactic shock and was taken off them.

I am pretty sure THAT was when my phobia of needles was planted in my brain, and through the years as I get IV’s and labs drawn ALL THE TIME it has become progressively worse rather than better. This is a HUGE frustration to me since I now, when getting labs drawn, get so … wiggy … that all my blood rushes to my core and my veins collapse – and NO MATTER how hard I try to relax – it still happens. Logically, I would assume that I would be getting used to it, but no – every time I am just a titch more freaked out.

So … I’m at the doctor’s office and they ask me if I want them to give me the first injection and show me how to do it. I say “No, I really need to do this myself” and I mean I really, really needed to know that I could do it. They went and got one of the needles and I was pleasantly surprised that the length was not as long as I expected. I had asked if it was an IM injection and they had said yes – that is Intramuscular Injection. This is opposed to an insulin injection needle that is short – less than ½ inch generally they are 5/16th of an inch to be exact (8mm) – so when I saw that it was 1 inch long (24mm), I thought – “I can do this”.

She said to spread the skin, not bunch it up like I had been taught when I learned how to give Jessie her injections. And speaking of Jessie’s injections, about a year before she left for a group home I realized that I was having a harder and harder time giving her an injection – which is weird since I can’t feel it, but it started to creep me out – that is when I realized that I had a pretty big problem with needles.

After spreading the skin flat, aim the needle in a spot NOT showing a vein, with the hole in the needle pointing up and just jam it in. The next step started bothering me with Jessie, also. I couldn’t just start pushing the plunger, I needed to pull back on the plunger and make sure that no blood was sucked up into the needle – thus indicating that you were in a vein and a no no. So after pulling back on the plunger and seeing no blood, then, and only then you begin to push the plunger. I am a pro – I have given Jessie lots of shots and gave myself shots right when I started to see my doctor – so I know that I have done it … that I don’t remember doing it sort of disturbs me.

So – I’m sitting on the table in the doctor’s office and I have swabbed the area with alcohol. I digress: To this day I smile at this step from memories of Norway. I had labs drawn and was given injections in Norway also, the only difference? THEY DO NOT SWAB WITH ALCOHOL FIRST. Did I ever get infected? No. But every time they started I would remember some sort of joke questioning the sanity of swabbing a convicted persons arm before inserting the needle that would administer the lethal injection. I would always jokingly tell them this and say I must be getting a ‘lethal injection’. For some reason, they NEVER found it as funny as I did ….

And then I would take the needle in my left hand (I’m a lefty), position it over my right leg (don’t know why my right – it just seemed most comfortable) and with the bevel up, tell my brain to plunge it in.

And I could not do it.

The nurse would say “OK, breathe out and just do it.” And I would breathe out, and my brain would tell my arm to ‘go’ – but my arm would not move. This went on for about 10 minutes and I was horrified with myself – I COULD NOT BELIEVE I COULD NOT DO IT. I knew it would not hurt very much, it was not a big deal. I had a mantra going: “This is so stupid, this is so stupid, this is so stupid …” It was beyond stupid – I couldn’t believe I couldn’t just plunge it in!

I got my head together got serious, and went into my ‘Fighter Mode’. Ever since that fateful day – 4 July 1988 when my water broke with Jessie I have had to suck it up and do what I call “Hard Things”. I’m not good at it, I’m not graceful about it, but I DO IT. My very first experience doing Hard Things was when Jessie was a couple of days old and I was in her room with her and they asked me to leave because they were going to do a spinal tap. I had Jessie in Ogden, Utah because at the time Logan, Utah did not have a Level 3 nursery. When they told us that in Logan, we were so dumb, we had to ask what a Level 3 nursery was? The nurses said that was where the sickest babies went … and the gravity of our situation – I was at 32 weeks at the time - started to sink in. They asked us where in Ogden did we want to go and we said St. Benedict’s. Gary’s brother is an obstetrician and that was the hospital he worked out of. At this point in this narrative, when I am telling it, I always say “God smiled on me that day and had Gary’s brother at Lake Powell and his partner delivered my baby.” Gary, and Jill (his brother’s wife) are still mystified when I say this – they are all like “Why wouldn’t you want Craig to deliver your baby – he is an absolutely MARVELOUS obstetrician?”



DUDES!



DO I SERIOUSLY HAVE TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU?



Do the freaking bloody math …

But, that being said – we were given a wee bit of preferential treatment while there because we were ‘family’. So when they tried to clear me out while they did a spinal tap I begged them to let me stay. They said ‘no, this is NOT something a mother needs to see’ and I countered with, ‘I am pretty sure I will imagine something more horrifying than what actually happens, please, I won’t move. I will put my back to the wall, I won’t say a word, I will not move, but please, please just let me stay with my baby.’

And, for whatever reason … they let me stay!

This is the only time the ‘medical community’ didn’t just blandly state it was ‘policy’ and with their godlike powers, kick me out, or deny my baby food, or any of the other horrifying things we went through.

Standing there, against the wall, weeping silently I realized that actually, no – I really wouldn’t have come up with something more horrifying … and, no – this was not something that a mother needs to see. I was mystified that I ever thought that I could and just wanted to die on the spot rather than have to watch one more minute of the torture they were inflicting on my beautiful, flawed baby. I said a silent prayer to help her suffering and in my head I heard five calm, quiet words: “You can do hard things”. I still tell myself that when I need to ‘suck it up’ and just do whatever it is that I need to do and it has always pulled me through.



But not today.



I failed.



I FAILED.



I DO NOT FAIL!!!



Twenty three years of doing Hard Things. Maybe I was not graceful about it, maybe I was a bitch about it, or an idiot or a crybaby – BUT I DID IT.




And suddenly after twenty three years a tiny, one inch needle had come out the victor instead of me …

I literally sat there for 20 more minutes until I was soaked with sweat, SO SURE I would pull through in the end and do this one RIDICULOUSLY SIMPLE THING.


IT WAS NOTHING!



I have a lot of pain, and I knew this would be nothing. But I could NOT get my brain and my arm to cooperate. I would tell, and ask, and demand, and plead and beg my arm to move and it just flat out would not move. It was a very odd sensation …


I couldn’t believe it when I finally had to admit I was wasting the nurse’s time. I told her to give me the injection and that by feeling how it felt, that NEXT Monday I would not be like I was today having no idea what it felt like. She quickly gave me the injection.

I watched her put the needle in, but barely felt it. It is TOTALLY NUTS. I was so disappointed in myself – I can’t even begin to describe the shame. It was ludicrous!

Got up, got six more injections and checked out – completely exhausted and defeated. A ONE INCH NEEDLE had bested me – with all I have been through – this was just not what I needed today.

I have NO IDEA how I am going to give myself my injection next Monday, but I HAVE to figure this out. I realize that it doesn’t seem to be about pain. It seems to be something about shoving a 1 inch needle in my leg – but not because it is painful – because it was not, but because it just seems so … wrong.

Drove home screaming at cars the entire way. I don’t think I have ever done that, or had Road Rage for no apparent reason. If I keep up with this ‘failing’ stuff, I will most DEFINITELY need to enroll in an Anger Management Course.

For now?


I just have a HUGE “L” tattooed on my forehead …