Part of my short term treatment is self-administered shots. Not pleasant. They are the same shots, actually, that I gave my mother a couple of years ago after she had surgery. To prevent the condition that I have now, incidentally. I remember having a hard time believing that she couldn’t manage to give them to herself. She reminded me that I was squeamish about giving Vitamin B shots to the dog. Point.
Tangent – I did a whole bunch of anecdotal research on this phenomenon and found that everyone has a different combination of self/other people/pets where they they thought they could or could not manage to give injections of medication. I felt much better. Anyway.
I remember whining on Facebook about having to give these shots to my mother. And demanding sympathy. My Facebook friends came through with all kinds of sympathy. In fact, the first two responders were:
B, whose mother had recently been diagnosed with early onset dementia. And whose father had been diagnosed with lung cancer. And:
A, who is a cancer survivor and has been giving himself injections ever since.
So tonight, as I was breaking out the syringe and alcohol wipes, I told myself that this is temporary. And I am grateful.