I Did It!

     I don't do needles.  Even with my tattoos and after having had my ears pierced multiple times, my tongue pierced for several years, and my navel pierced (all I have left are 2 piercings in each ear and the tats left--I got bored with the rest and removed them.  Except the eyebrow.  I lost that in a softball incident and chose the sport over risking having it ripped from my eyebrow again). But if you're in a lab coat coming near me with a needle, I freak.  I'm not so bad that I scream, cry, or like some people I've heard, pass out.  It's more like whimpering, whining, squirming in my chair, cringing, and looking away waiting for it to be over. That includes any form of vaccine. My rational mind knows there's no difference, but still.  For the last 18 months, I've had labs done at least once a month; some months two or three times.  It still isn't any easier.  So when my UCTD began to worsen and evolve into what my rheumatologist believes to be Rheumatoid Arthritis and Lupus and I was sent for a full spinal MRI to look for signs of at least RA (lab tests would be skewed from the anti-rheumatics and immunosuppressants, most likely leading to false negatives except for the climbing inflammation rates), the next step was to add Humira to my ever growing regimen of medications.  One little catch:  it's a self injectable medication. Awesome.
      The good news, at least, is it does come in an injectable pen form, so I don't actually have to see the needle.  Naturally, I'm on the higher dose and the more frequent injection--every other week.  Many of my friends joked about a pool they had going as to whether I was going to puke, pass out, or go running to my mother to inject me when I had to start it.  It was a pretty safe bet any of the above was going to happen, so it was decided that upstairs was the safest place for me.  That and there was an excellent chance the side effects were going to be more intense because of my other medications.  So my mother and I debated where upstairs as I impatiently waited for my TB test results.  I could use her room, since I could keep the dog out and sit on the edge of her bed.  That way if I did pass out, the bed was right there, but if I was going to puke, well... that would be a bit of a problem.  The bathroom was a better choice because it's smaller and obviously if I did get sick, the toilet (or worst case, the bath tub) was right there.  Downside?  The bath tub was right there if I passed out and would prove painful.  But I chose it anyway, figuring I'd take my chances.
      The tests came back negative as expected, I'd start on a Friday since the side effects could last a few days and losing a whole weekend was fine.  I do that all the time now because of pain.  I psyched myself up, preparing to do this on my own.  Then I opened the box and there were these 2 HUGE 3-4" syringes. What.The.Fuck!?!? Totally not the pens I was expecting and nothing like the practice pen I was given!  I almost passed out on the kitchen floor!! The pharmacy screwed up and gave me the wrong injection! Of course by this point I can't drive, so I have to wait for my dad to come home from work in a few hours to exchange them. A Xanax later and with the right injection in my hand, I'm sitting there, my thigh prepped, hand shaking, holding the pen in my hand. I can't do it. I can't watch, but I have to, because I have to watch and wait for the indicator to fully show up to let me know it's finished.  But I can't. Mom has to.  But she can't, because I have to get used to doing this myself.  I haven't touched anything, so it's still all sterile. Deep breaths.  It only takes about 10 seconds.  I can't do this. I have to do this....  It took me 10 minutes to finally inject myself, but I did it.  Three times I almost called my mom in there to do it, but I did it.  I managed to stay conscious, keep my stomach contents, and resisted the urge to call my mom.  So I spent the entire weekend in bed feeling like a rag doll that had been tossed around in a tornado, but by Wednesday afternoon, I was okay.  So far, I don't feel any different, except by Sunday I noticed it takes me less than 10 minutes to get out of bed.  It normally takes me about 45 minutes because my joints are so stiff.  It's a start.  It will take months for the medication to fully take effect and hopefully my body will adjust to the injections so I'm not completely down for 3 days and kind of functional for another 2, but I conquered the hardest part--I did it myself.  This time.  We'll see if I can do it again next week.