Pin Cushion Crock-Pot...

Since I don't respond to any of the easy oral medication that would make me ovulate, the Hubster and I decided to be brave and just see if I would respond to the hard stuff.  The injections.  Little shots of hormone... hormone I would find out that is made from urine, something I don't like to think about much. 

So on day 14 or so of my cycle, after crying all the way home from Raleigh... I decided to be brave and let the Hubster inject me.  Was I upset about not responding???-- No...it was the thought of having to have a shot. 

In all my panic... I forgot that part of his job is to give injections to baby pigs... so I was taken aback when he took the needle from my shaky hands a few days later and started to mix up the drug.  He had the whole process down pat.  I was the basket case. 

Generally he is the one that faints when he sees blood, especially human blood in large quantities.  He is after all, the man that cut his finger, passed out and hit his head on the edge of his mother's kitchen island because of all the blood coming from his hand and had to be rushed to the emergency room for stitches for not only his hand but also his head.  He is after all, the man that has to go outside and smoke a cigarette and lay down during his volunteer fire meetings when they show graphic training videos.

He just picked up that needle and headed straight for me.  Of course I got up and ran around in place.  Nervous.  I walked around the house taking deep breaths as the Hubster just sort of cocked his head to the side and stared at me like I was crazy. 

I got the courage to lay down on the couch.  Since the injection had to be in my stomach area anyway, that was probably the safest position.  I put on my sunglasses, don't ask why... thanked God I had a little bit of extra skin and fat to squeeze so maybe, just maybe the shot wouldn't hurt too bad.  And before I  knew it, I was stuck.  And it was over.  And I was fine. 

A few days and a few injections later I was to go back to the doctor to see if anything had changed.  Nope.  Nothing.  I started to worry that I was permanently broken.  But the nurse told me that this was normal.  Considering that I had lots of little follicles in my ovaries, they had to go low and slow with the drugs or else we could be looking at another Octomom.

Low and Slow?  Where I have I heard this before.  Oh yeah, a million times while watching the Food Network.  Apparently I'm a crock-pot.