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05/20/2004

Stupid PIO tricks

This cycle marks my first exposure to progesterone in oil. I'd always heard how agonizing the injections are, and although I considered myself lucky to have avoided them thus far, I also felt a certain superiority to those who complained. Really, how bad could it be?

Paul dutifully delivered the first injection to my right hip with little fanfare and no pain. This is a breeze, I thought smugly.

The second injection came due after he'd already left town, so I twisted myself into spasms to deliver the injection to my left hip. Because the angle was so awkward, I didn't plunge the needle straight in and ended up wiggling it more than I should have — that is to say, at all. Although the shot itself didn't hurt, the next day the injection site was a bit sore from my deep tissue noodling. This will be a breeze, I thought, if I do the next one in my thigh.

Now, I was told that the injection should be done in the upper outer quadrant of the buttocks. (If you were referring to someone with actual muscles in her ass, you might say "glutes." But we're talking about me, so "well-marbled rump" is more apt.) But you can deliver intramuscular shots into the quadriceps, and I thought I might be able to drive the needle with more accuracy and finesse if I wasn't concurrently herniating a disc. Because, hey, I'm clever.

So today I set to. I warmed the injection site with a hot, damp cloth. I drew up the oil into the syringe. And I plunged it deep into the meat of my thigh.

Don't ever, ever do this.

The injection didn't hurt. But the senation of driving the needle in was extremely upsetting. If you would like to simulate the experience at home, assemble the following:

  • 1 McDonald's drinking straw
  • 3 lb. eye of round, partially frozen

    Now stick the straw into the steak. Now imagine, if you will, that the beef is intimately tied into your somatic nervous system.

    Yeah, that's the stuff.

    I felt a wave of queasiness as I looked at the 1 1/2" needle entirely embedded in my leg. But because I am ten kinds of mighty badass, I steeled myself to complete the injection, which must be delivered slowly...slowly...slowly...ahhhhhh.

    This wasn't really such a breeze at all, I concluded as I massaged the injection site with my warm, limp washcloth.

    But, again, the shot didn't actually hurt, and once I'd massaged the oil out of its stubborn lump into the depths of my muscle, I was fine, and went gaily about my business.

    Now, a scant eight hours later, I am practically crippled.

    My right thigh is as sore as if I'd been stabbed with an icepick — not surprising, considering that I was stabbed with an icepick. The muscle throbs even at rest. When I try to walk, I have to fight the urge to drag my leg behind me Quasimodo-style. When I flex my knee, a dull but insistent ache washes over my entire leg. When I put my weight on it — well, look, it just hurts, okay? Jesus, do I have to paint you a picture?

    I'm guessing this is why they recommend doing the injections in the upper outer quadrant of the well-marbled rump, a muscle that does significantly less work than the lean, unlarded upper thigh. With newfound humility, I hereby join the ranks of women who complain about how painful PIO injections are. Almost as painful as my stupidity.

    Comments

  • 1 McDonald's drinking straw
  • 3 lb. eye of round, partially frozen

    Now stick the straw into the steak. Now imagine, if you will, that the beef is intimately tied into your somatic nervous system.

    Yeah, that's the stuff.

    I felt a wave of queasiness as I looked at the 1 1/2" needle entirely embedded in my leg. But because I am ten kinds of mighty badass, I steeled myself to complete the injection, which must be delivered slowly...slowly...slowly...ahhhhhh.

    This wasn't really such a breeze at all, I concluded as I massaged the injection site with my warm, limp washcloth.

    But, again, the shot didn't actually hurt, and once I'd massaged the oil out of its stubborn lump into the depths of my muscle, I was fine, and went gaily about my business.

    Now, a scant eight hours later, I am practically crippled.

    My right thigh is as sore as if I'd been stabbed with an icepick — not surprising, considering that I was stabbed with an icepick. The muscle throbs even at rest. When I try to walk, I have to fight the urge to drag my leg behind me Quasimodo-style. When I flex my knee, a dull but insistent ache washes over my entire leg. When I put my weight on it — well, look, it just hurts, okay? Jesus, do I have to paint you a picture?

    I'm guessing this is why they recommend doing the injections in the upper outer quadrant of the well-marbled rump, a muscle that does significantly less work than the lean, unlarded upper thigh. With newfound humility, I hereby join the ranks of women who complain about how painful PIO injections are. Almost as painful as my stupidity.

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