I'm sorry. What the hell am I talking about? Oh yeah, I had my injectables training today. The nurse/therapist who did the training was wonderful, very comforting. She came equipped with a 1.5 hour long power point presentation (you read that correctly) about the entire process, detailing everything from what phone numbers and extensions will give you an actual real live person on the other end of the phone in the office, to how many days to abstain from sex before your procedure. To everything in between---and there's a LOT of stuff in between.
Funniest part of the training? On the way in, another woman and I noticed a bunch of green "gift bags" at an entry table, turned to each and said, "Swag at the infertility clinic? Nice touch." Maybe she went to BlogHer, too.
Also? A tiny little women who I think may have been Chinese came into the conference room a few minutes late, meekly sat down next to me and was silent for the majority of the nurse's presentation. As the nurse went from standard clinic procedures into discussing the actual process of giving the shots, this tiny little woman's voice, heavily accented came out of nowhere, "Wait. Doctor doesn't do shots??? WE do shots??? WE do??!!" Poor girl. Yes, WE do the shots ourselves. And not the vodka kind. I wondered why she thought she had to go to a training session if the doctor was going to be the one doing the shots. But it was hilarious. Fortunately she took it in stride once she digested the news that she was going to have to give herself her own shots.
I'm relieved I didn't have to actually stick myself in the belly today. We were given a variety of shots to work with, but administered them into a foam square instead of our (my) own chub. So if everything goes according to the current plan, on Thursday I will start shooting my belly full of hormones for nine days. Then, the night of the tenth day I'll give myself another shot to force my body to ovulate and then off we go for the IUI.
My hope is that we get this process done before it's time to sit down to the dinner table on Thanksgiving. My family's not one to discuss these sorts of matters over a meal, but I may not be able to resist a turkey-baster joke unless the IUI is already behind me.