I am sure that there are many people out there who associate being poked by a foreign object a good thing. Maybe even a fun thing, depending on what the foreign object is attached to. In the world of medicine, and specifically to me, in the world of cancer treatment, being poked by a foreign object is not usually considered a pleasurable experience. Fortunately for me, thus far in my journey, the poking has been undertaken by Medically Trained People.

Not anymore.

Next week I will start a course of treatment whereby I have to inject myself everyday for ten days. The gift that is self medicating started early for me, just a few minutes ago to be precise. I have asked to receive an extra medicine not usually given to patients preparing for a transplant. I have asked for a drug that I am sure is really technical and stuff, but essentially, the drug puts my body into a kind of fake menopause. I simply cannot wait for the side effects from that to kick in. I understand that one of the side effects will make it difficult for me to get a good old poking the way nature initially intended. That though, is by the by. Nature sucks. Medical advancements and Vaseline are where it is at.

What is praying on my mind, right now, is pricks. The pricks of a needle. It was not a good thing for Sleeping Beauty was it? Well, a handsome prince did rescue her at the end, but generally, the lesson I gained from that particular fairy tale was that needles are bad. Real bad.

I know there are many people in this world who have to inject themselves everyday. Knowing this fact, meant that I had to find the will to do my injections myself. It is hardly fair of me to ask others to do the injections for me, as daunting as it may be for me to stand in my kitchen with a needle and syringe aimed at my gut. It would be a lie if I said that injecting myself did not scare me. Anybody who saw me build up the courage to do the first injection would see that I was afraid. I made up the medicine, which by the way was no easy feat, then stood with a timer, targeting the needle, then removing it, then targeting it, and then removing it, then targeting it, and then removing it before I could stab myself. It was not an attractive sight for I was pinching my flab with my left hand and directing the syringe with the right.

A complicated medical procedure

As it turned out, it was not that bad. I am sure as the week progresses, I will find it easier and easier.

It’ll never be a trip to the cinema.