Todays the day I get to inject myself for the first time! Not something you get to say often, but I got to think about it lot over the past couple of days with of course some anxiety. I had done my home work yesterday and watched several YouTube versions of how to stab yourself. I watched several, including one where the boyfriend was doing it for the woman who could not face doing it herself. He seemed to me to be enjoying himself a tad too much. The cartoon ones seemed a cop out. At last I found one that was a real human with flab, like I am developing, who seemed to do the whole thing in the blink of an eye. I was reassured for a little while,but anxious again by bed time.
Of course life is not plain sailing and the Real World has a say in how things can get done or not. There is also my own element of procrastination to avoid the nasty deed. So there was a shopping list of things to get to aid my self injection. Alcohol wipes, guaze squares, elastoplasat and more hand sanitiser were of course required, so I trot of to the village chemist to buy what I need to complete my safe junkie set. Naturally it would be bad form to undertake a new adventre without a breakfast so I pop into the village cafe to swig berry tea and consume a bacon and saugage roll. I confess that I often do this and while away time doing the Mail easy cross word and Pitcherwits puzzle on the pretence of staving off Alzheimers, though in fairness to my self its not exactly a challenging cognative task. Today I am interupted by a call from my partner who tells me the Sainsburys delivery man is going to be early. I’m staggered, early, does that happen? Apparently it does so I am forced to abandon my brain saving puzzles, pay the bill, rembering to buy a £1 bag of charity dolly mixture. Donn’t ask me why but I must own my own air ambulance or a childrens hospice by now,no wonder I have fillings that fall out.
I return home at pace with my charity Dolly Mixture and find Sainsbury man waiting. Its relatively easy to unload and produce an incomprehensible signature on the electronic pad he waves at me along with a wad of free childrens collection cards. I think he saw the Doly Mixture. So food for the week now packed away including some new items. Frozen pineapple cubes to ward off a sore mouth should the need arise and some easy snack foods to satidfy the steriod munchies.
No excuses left its time to inject myself, but only after reorganising the freezer compartment and having an orange juice. So at last I take a stab stick out of the fridge and remember that I have to wait half an hour for it to come to room temprature. I remember doing this with wine, I bet this will not be so much fun. I arrange my operating space. I try to mentaly rehearse what I am going to do and talk myself through it. Time to run through the hygene routine so off I go to wash my hands, sanitise them and then begin having adjusted my clothes to allow access to my fat around my waist as per video. So I wipe down with the alcohol swab, pick up the stab stick in my right hand and pull the protective cover off the needle. It looks sharp, which I console myself is good, after all who wants a blunt needle. I pinch my fat into a crease and emulating fat man on the video quickly plunge the needle in and release the fat. Bingo, man with needle stuck in his gut, now what? Oh yes push the plunger until…. At this point I was not sure till when, I assumed it would come to a natural stop or there would be some sort of indication that it had come to an end. I continued to press and assumed after a while with no further movement I was done. I pulled it and there was a surprising ping as the spring loaded barrel retracted the needle. Straight into the sharps bin with the stab stick and then a lightening fast application of the guaze square to stem any blood flow. Nothing not even a drop. Stuck on the elastoplast and sighed with relief.
If only life was that easy. There is always something new to learn. Todays lesson is DO NOT INJECT ON THE WAIST BAND LINE! It can be sore. I won’t be doing that again tomorrow.
Having achieved my challenge for the day I retereat to my shed in the garden with my mail and see what the day has brought. An old friend and colleague of my days working in therapeutic communities has sent me a painting by herself. It is in part a response to my diagnosis and to the blog. I’ve been overwhelmed by the kind response of people to the blog and the news of my illness. This response is particularly welcome. I find a frame for it immediately and hang it with me in my writing shed. I get on with some work and then decide that there are people I owe letters to. This blogging is all well and fine but there is nothing like writing a letter to express how life is to people with whom you have had long term relationships with. So I sit and write those words reserved for the sharers of my history and those who know me best and will, when needs be,tell me when I am being crass or stupid. Or they may just takethe piss out of me when I get pretentious and up myself.
