So yesterday, while at the in-laws’ Easter gathering, I mentioned to my sister-in-law that we had to get home soon so that I could prepare myself to trigger. She asked what that entailed, and I told her:
- Vials of questionable drugs
- Big-ass Needles
- YouTube videos depicting ass-injections (Ew. Not like that.)
- Blurry Vision
- And, if you’re particularly wimpy, fainting on the bathroom floor.
She suggested I get someone to give me the shot, to which I said that I had attempted to recruit help in the past, but no one wants to stab me in the ass.
She told her husband, who then called his sister – the nurse – who of course said, “Sure! Send her on over! I’ll take care of it no problem!!”
And so, awkward though it was having my pants half-down in front of my sister-in-law’s sister-in-law, I received my trigger with little more than a quick poke and a few moments of eye-averting shame at my own wussiness.
Totally worth it, however.
I should probably send her flowers or something… You know: “Thanks for last night, and for not judging me.”
Le sigh. The things we do for the masochistic urge to conceive.