Needling myself

This week I’ve been sticking myself with needles in the hope of teaching my body to do what it’s supposed to do fertility-wise. For someone who normally dreads blood tests and needles in general, this whole process has forced me to get a helluva lot more comfortable with needles!

Saturday night was the first night of my self-administered injections and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I’d practiced at the nurse’s office on a plastic pin cushion but I figured that it wasn’t a true representation – a) it isn’t skin and b) it isn’t MY skin. So while it LOOKED easy, I was slightly queasy with anticipation. The Boy had also practiced but considering that he turns white at the thought of getting a blood test (thanks to one terrible experience as a kid I think), I didn’t want him in charge of any needles. I value my life thank you very much.

9:30 came around and it was TIME. I locked in the metered dose, attached the needle to the epipen-type contraption and it was GO. 

And then it was over. Seriously, 15 seconds after sticking the tiny, thin needle in and pressing down, it was over. 

What a frigging let-down.

(What’s more of a let-down is the fact that the first 6 days of shots didn’t get my body working at all but that’s another post altogether.)

This got me thinking about how many other things in my life I catastrophise and get myself into a state about when, in reality, it’s really not a big deal. It’s so easy to build something up in your mind to such a point that it is no longer a stepping stone through to something greater, but rather a wall without any toe-holds to climb over. 

If nothing else, this process is teaching me that I can get through more than I think I can. That, inevitably, it is my MIND that needs to be needled into realising that everything can be dealt with and nothing is the enemy. Not even a needle or 10. 

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