Injecting yourself surruptitously in your parents' bathroom isn't as hard as it may seem. Turn on the shower, take a deep breath, swipe the needle, the lupron container and your abdomen with an alcohol swab... carefully measure the syringe.... plunge that fucker into your lower abdomen and say a prayer of thanks that you aren't using the harpoon like needle of a PIO injection.
But maintaining your composure on lupron, well, that's another matter entirely. Your eyes water all the time (thank god the pollen count is high on this early spring week).
Then you find yourself on a message thread about your facebook feed. Remember how three years ago today you were involved in a high-profile, exhilerating campaign that resulted in improving the lives of thousands of people? One that you were key to developing? Oh, you didn't want to remember this week? Could it be that you miscarried for the third consecutive time this week? Yeah, that must be it.
The stakes are so much higher now. We've spent so much money, I am stabbing myself on a nightly basis and feeling a little like an angry lunatic. And there is still a very high chance that it won't work. Any of it. That a micrroscopic, likely genetically normal embryo will be implanted into my uterus OF DOOM in a few weeks time, and it will still die.
Sigh. Fucking lupron.