Trading Places

Thursday, my wife drove me out to the new specialist and watched while the doctor poked and prodded my hips and backside, looking for sufficient flesh to safely inject the antibiotics without hitting a nerve or a bone. Next visit, on Monday, my wife gets to do it herself with the doc supervising and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so nervous in the nine years we’ve been together.

When we first got together, she would occasionally have to jab me with my migraine meds. The shot was one of those nifty automatic pens that she simply held against my thigh and pressed a button. Sure, it had the same kickback as the small pistol my grandfather taught me to shoot rattlesnakes with, and made about as much noise as that tiny weapon. But everything was hidden and fast. Speed of light fast compared to the abx.

Without forethought on Thursday, I opted to get the first abx shot in my right hip, which resulted in my back being turned to the action unfolding behind me. Before I rolled over, though, I caught sight of my wife’s face and the poor thing had broken out in a nervous sweat. She put on her brave face for me and squeezed my hand, but I could see the terror in her eyes.

And that calmed me for some reason. I’d been so uptight I’ve lost sleep over this new course of treatment. And I’m not too embarrassed to admit I nearly lost my shit when I saw the needle, because I immediately realized there was no part on my body where enough muscle remained to accommodate it. When the time came, though, hearing the tremor in my wife’s voice gave me something other than the pain in my hip to think about, reminded me why I’m fighting so hard. So I just rolled over, did my breathing, and waited for it to be over.

When my wife shoots me up for the first time, I’ll get to look at her. This makes her more nervous; when I pointed it out last night she went green and nearly threw up. She’ll see, though, that she isn’t hurting me. I didn’t feel the needle at all, and the compassionate doc was patient with the plunger so the experience was more uncomfortable than anything else.

Until I tried to stand up. I felt like I’d been hit with a baseball bat. The meds, of course, had collected into a gait-impairing monkey-bump the size of a tangerine. For the first time in six months I had an ass. Unfortunately, it was only on the one side, but at least it was firm and riding high.