I am not a Chemist

I admit, I did not appreciate my belly. It wasn't always perfectly flat, or perfectly toned. But it was mine.
Now, my belly is unrecognizable.
It started with my surgery, which left a set of scars and a belly button that looks like it is frowning. The belly button is frowning because the doctor went in laparoscopically, and the way they minimize the total number of scars is to go in through your belly button. There is no scar on my belly button, but the skin did not heal the way it was, and now my belly button is sad. It is pessimistic. About four inches below my belly button there is a one-inch scar, like an upside-down crescent, which also looks like it is frowning. There are two small scars about eight inches apart, and between my belly button and this new upside-down crescent. If you connected the three scars and the misshapen belly button, you would make a diamond. And unlike my emotional state, which can be brightened temporarily by, say, a puppy with an ice cube, these sad scars are permanent.
And now, my three-shot a day regimen is furthering altering the tectonics of this landscape.
Allow me to get you up to date. In the mornings, I am taking 150 iu of Repronex. I wipe down all the vials with alcohol preps and unwrap one very long needle-syringe combo and one short needle. Using the very long, and, I must say, intimidating needle, I inject 1 ml of sodium chloride into one vial of powder, and I let that dissolve, and then I suck that mixture up with a needle and inject it into another vial of powder and let that dissolve. Then I twist off the long needle and twist on the short needle. At various points in between, I am holding my needle and syringe up to the light and whacking it with a pen, trying to get the air bubbles out and thinking of the movie Trainspotting. I am not sure what would have happen if I missed an air bubble, but I am sure I do not want to find out, especially since there was an episode of House that posited that such a thing could kill you, even if you previously gave voice to Darth Vader.
Every time I do this mixing and wiping and switching needles, I think of my tenth grade chemistry teacher, who told my mother that I was a terrible multi-tasker, and that this meant I would never be a chemist.
This Repronex shot seems to be the one my body likes the least. I have now given myself three shots. I am supposed to give myself a shot somewhere in the region below my belly button, avoiding a two inch radius of the four points of the diamond of scars, which, as you will recall, includes the belly button. The problem is that every time I give myself one of these shots, a raised, red, swollen patch develops, measuring about 4 inches in diameter. I have three of these so far. For Erin's amusement, I took out a tape measure and measured the available terrain. From hip to hip, I've got 14 inches. From belly button to crescent scar I only have 3.5 inches. And every night, I give myself two more shots, the previously mentioned Lupron, and 225 ius of Follistim. These other two shots don't seem to be causing any problems at the injection site, but if these raised, red patches don't start to subside, I'm going to run out of willing injection sites.

The Big Box of Needles and Drugs

The Big Box of Needles and Drugs arrived today. I cleared out a drawer in the refrigerator so the drugs would not get mixed up with the arugula and the milk.
Here is what is in the box:
Follistim
HCG
Repronex
About a million needles and syringes
Packages of individually wrapped alcohol swabs.
One container of very large capsules of antibiotics.
One container for disposing of needles and syringes.

I called American Express to confirm that they had accepted the charges for the doctor (nearly $9,000) and the latest shipment of medications (over $3000).

I do not want to swallow those pills. I do not want to give myself those injections. The puppy, barometer of my emotions, has retreated to his crate.
But, for the chance of having a baby before I am 38 years old, I will do it. I am committed.