Elise and I went to the pharmacist to pick up my prescriptions this afternoon. I was hoping there was some alternative, but the pharmacist concurred with the doctor and told me that I had to inject the Lovenox into the fatty tissue in my stomach. And if I didn’t, I could run the risk of dying from pulmonary embolism. Awesome!
We came home with a bag-o-syringes and some Vicodin. We ate leftovers for lunch and then I decided, I might as well get it over with now. So with a alcohol wipe behind my ear and syringe in my mouth, I hobbled on my crutches to the bathroom. I washed my hands while fighting off reluctance. I then thought about how my dad might have handled this situation. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it. I’m a much more of a wuss than my dad was. So I said to myself, “The hell with it… let’s get it done. I’m going to have to do this nine more times so might as well get used to doing it quickly.”
So I pulled the cap of the syringe, pinched a piece of flesh and jabbed the needle in. It was a weird experience, but wasn’t bad at all. I looked at myself in the mirror and was about to congratulate myself when I noticed the alcohol wipe packet behind my ear. I forgot to sterilize my stomach before giving myself the injection. Now I’m praying that I don’t get a staph infection.
This whole broken ankle thing has turned into a huge pain in the ass.
You’re right about your dad doing what needs to be done. He was always like that and it rubbed off on me to “just do it”. It will carry you if you continue to think that way. Sorry you have to go through all those shots..