How To Scare Yourself Silly in Three Easy Steps or Sarah Is Officially Banned from Using the Internet

I often wonder what we did before the Internet...need to look up directions? Internet.  Looking for a new recipe? Internet.  Trying to figure out where to have dinner/what movie to see/concert to go to?  Internet.  But as anyone who has spent early morning hours listing their symptoms on WebMD in the unshakable belief that they have a brain tumor/African parasite/or other horrifying/incurable disease will tell you, too much Internet can be a bad thing.

Such is the case with infertility and IVF treatments.  On the positive side, there is a lot of great information and testimonials from people who have been where you are.  When you're feeling low about the process, it's great to hear how successful other people have been.  Plus, it can give you a bit of perspective...what it can also do, my readers...and I'm going to put this bluntly...is scare the shit out of you.

It will probably not surprise you to learn that this post is not about the helpful type of Internet browsing and instead, what I affectionately call The Dark Side of the Internets. 

I've had this niggling fear about the intramuscular (that's just a nice way of saying a shot in the butt) shots of progesterone that Nick will have to give me for at least two weeks every day (and probably for a total of six-eight weeks if we are lucky enough to get pregnant this first try).  The purpose of the progesterone is to ensure your uterine lining will be welcoming and inviting to embryos (side note: I like to picture my uterus wearing a Snuggie.  What embryo WOULDN'T want to cozy up to a uterine lining like THAT?) (side side note: there is an alternative way to get the progesterone to your body but I don't think you want to know what it is.  Okay, fine...I'll tell you...it's a suppository.  Probably the only time that a suppository looks good to me, comparatively speaking anyway.)

Anyway, I've basically been pretending like these shots don't exist because hello?  That's way in the future!  Only...it's not.  We're talking weeks at this point.  And so, my Google Search History looks something like this:

• Progesterone Shots - are they really necessary?
• Progesterone Shots - why does my doctor hate me?
• Progesterone Shots - surely I can just mix it up with a smoothie and drink it?
• Progesterone Shots - will I want to stab my husband?
• Progesterone Shots - how much pain are we talking about here...like...oof, that muscle is a little sore, I could use a massage kinda pain OR yelling at the husband with a fury of a thousand sons that under no circumstances will he be coming anywhere near me with that needle, so help me god?!
• Progesterone Shots - okay, fine I get it, I'm spending a lot of money to get pregnant, I'm going to have to woman up, but could you at least give me some tips to ease the pain?!?!

Ad nauseum.

The good news is that I did, actually, find quite a bit of helpful information.  Bad news - I also read dozens of horror stories, each one more awful than the last....to the point where I had worked myself up into such a state of hysteria that I had to go wake Nick up this morning.

Me: :::poking Nick::::  "Hey, Nick!" whispered
Nick: garuiklmapbjablld (rolls over)
Me: ::::poking Nick harder::: "Nick!" slightly louder
Nick:  garaiupmadspiadskfkldsajl (nestles closer in to his pillow)
Me: NICK!!!
Nick: ::::eyes fly open::::
Me: "Oh, good, you're awake!"
Nick: ::::blinks in confusion::::
Me: "I'm scared of the shots you're going to give me."
Nick:  "Okay."
Me: "No, I mean, I'm like REALLY scared.  Like that time we watched Paranormal Activity scared."
Nick: "Uh huh."
Me: (beginning to get frustrated that he isn't understand the depth of what I'm saying) "Because you know...it's like a huge needle, and apparently I'm going to be all lumpy and bruised and possibly paralyzed and you're going to have to drive me to work and carry me around the house and bring me ice cream on demand." (the last part I just threw in figuring it couldn't hurt to have him prepared)
Nick: "I'm hungry."
Me: $%#@! (At this point, I am about to Officially Lose My Shit, which is the point in an argument where I stop making logical sense and just start making sounds akin to a Howler Monkey) (EXCEPT...my stomach started rumbling at the mention of breakfast, so in this situation - love of breakfast > fear of large needles.)

And so we went here for brunch and then here to buy some fresh fruit and vegetables and then here for the most wonderful macarons.   And I felt better.  Oh, and Nick said some nice stuff about how it was all going to be worth it, and I was such a trooper and blah di blah...logic is so infuriating sometimes.