Nurse Tony

I suppose there is a point in every marriage where one spouse finds him or herself doing things for the other spouse that he or she never imagined on the day the day the couple said "I do." Tony already has a long list of those such things, and we've recently added one more. He has become my personal nurse.

When I began my prenatal visits for this pregnancy, my doctor explained that when you have one baby premature (e.g. Afton) the chances of having your next baby premature shoot up dramatically. What is of more concern is that the next baby tends to come even earlier than the first. However, premature labor can be largely prevented by a weekly injection of the hormone progesterone, and that injection can be done at the doctor's office or at home.

I didn't want to line up a babysitter each week for the Aftonator and wait forever in a doctor's office for one lousy shot. So one night after 10 p.m., which is to say at a point in time when Tony's mental functioning starts to slow down, I broached the subject. I told him a number of things and got him to agree to be my progesterone-shot giver.

We both realized we were in for a bit more than either of us had bargained for when I went to pick up the progesterone and needles from the pharmacy. I'll just say that the prescription came with two needles, the smaller of the two still being an inch-and-a-half long. I hate needles.

I knew Tony's resolve was weakening at the doctor's office. The nurse came in to teach him how to properly shoot me up and she gave him the option of doing the shot while she coached him or the option of just observing. He chose to observe. It didn't make things any better when she explained that after getting the needle into my, um, backside (it has to go into a big muscle and that one is pretty big these days), that he'd need to pull up on the syringe a bit to make sure no blood came up. If it did, it would mean he'd hit a vein and he'd need to find a new spot to stab me. (She didn't say stab, but that's how we were both feeling about the whole thing at that point. There's a reason we both went to law school instead of medical school.)

The next week, Tony pulled out the rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, two sets of needles, and the progesterone. I dropped my pants (nothing about pregnancy is flattering), and it actually hurt less than the nurse's shot. We got a great tip about icing the "injection site" for a while before hand. I tried it and it was fantastic -- I was so numb that I barely felt the needle. All went well in subsequent doses... until two weeks ago.

We got the supplies ready, Tony started to put the needle in, and it hurt so much I jumped. Then it hurt even worse as he completed the injection. After saying a number of things that will not be repeated on this blog, I asked him, "What happened? Did you BEND THE NEEDLE?!?" He muttered something, and I calmed down because as much as it hurt, I'd still rather be me (receiving the shot) than him (who has to give it). It took Tony two weeks and another more successful injection behind us to tell me that what had actually happened. Evidently I jumped so far that the needle came out, and he decided to just "quickly" finish the job before things got worse. We are professionals....

So, we're done with eight weeks of shots and have eight more to go. The number of reasons to be glad for Baby #2 to arrive just keep growing and growing :).