Thursday, January 21, 2010


Scene: The Poet giving me the injection. Over the past two days we've been sqabbling over whether I should put my hand back and brace the syringe while he has two hands on the plunger.

Me: I think I need to brace it, because once you started pushing yesterday it went in farther than it was at first, past where it was you checked for blood.

Poet: That's OK.

Me: No, because there was blood in the needle when you drew it out. (Blood in the needle is not good.)

Poet: OK, I'll pay attention so it won't do in any further, even after I start pushing.

Me: OK, I won't brace it then.

The Poet jabs in the needles and starts pushing down hard. I can see it's dipped down into my flesh, past the original point where The Poet checked for blood. It starts to sting as the Rocephin goes into my muscle. It stings too much.

Me: OK, this is going in way too deep!

Poet: That's what she said.

Me: (Starting to laugh as I put my hand back to brace the needle) No fair!

Laughing is not good while you're getting an injection. Your whole body shakes while you have the needle in and it hurts even more, which makes you laugh even more. I manage to keep the laughter in check, so I can better enjoy having this thing stuck inside me. That's what she said.