Well, it happened. (Don’t worry I’m still pregnant!) I was hoping to go a bit longer, but I knew it would happen eventually – injections, they are not fun, and even in my best frame of mind, sometimes, they totally suck.
I made it to Day 7 with nary a complaint. Seven days, seven injections, might seem like a decent showing to a normal person, but in my case, 7 represents a tiny fraction (slightly less than 1/40th, to be exact) of the injections a healthy, full-term pregnancy will bring me, so I really was hoping for longer. Like, 30. A month of taking my morning needle with pride, not whining.
With Amy, especially in the early days, I am embarrassed to admit how many mornings I cried through my injection, not even as much from the pain as the knowledge that in the best possible world there was a seemingly endless number of them still to come. (Had I only known how limited those days were.) I would become a petulant toddler, whimpering and I am loathe to admit this but I know I said on more than one occasion that I “hated the baby.” Which sure as hell wasn’t true, and we both knew it, but after she died? I can’t stand to think that I ever said that about her, not even once.
After she died, I had 6 more weeks of injections, and those were even worse because I remembered how I had acted about all the ones before, and I hated how these mornings were just like the mornings before, except now my daughter was dead, my daughter whom I very much loved and did not hate at all and would have gladly suffered an injection every day for the rest of my life for. I convinced the doctors to switch me to Coumadin after the first week, it was so depressing.
So this time around, I knew it would be different. The injections really are quite painful – the medication stings and burns as it goes in and for a while after, and depending on what you end up hitting they can leave some tender bruises. So “enjoying” them is not really possible, but I wanted not to complain. I wanted to feel grateful, each day, that these injections mean that I am once again and still pregnant, instead of dreading the time to come.
But yesterday’s injection was a bleeder. This happens from time to time, if you just happen to nick a superficial vein, it begins to bleed and it mixes with the blood thinning medication to create a mini horror show on your belly. Oh, and it hurts. A lot. And it bruises in the very painful way. And for a split second, in that moment, I was pissed I had to get this stupid shot, so mad! And then immediately guilty, for thinking that for even a moment. And now I feel like I have to pay some kind of penance, which I guess is admitting this on the internet.
But I am, still, pregnant. And for that, I really am grateful.