Two years ago next month, I did my ten year stupid. My right foot missed the stupid ledge in our walk-in shower. I fell OUT of the thing on my right side (arm and hip).
About two weeks after I started injecting Methotrexate on Friday nights,
I didn’t go through my usual I hear a “shhhhhhhh” noise; do I have it on my clothes; did it not stay on top of my abdomen; did it fall on the floor dance.
No, that night’s weirdness consisted of me drawing the med up into the syringe, pulling the needle out of the bottle, feeling something wet drop on my foot, then panicking, looking down at my foot expecting to see a screaming yellow stain. Nothing there (of course).
Paul watches me do that, says do you need me? I said I dunno but stay there. He said you want me here for moral support? I said yes.
So we watch me pinch the skin on my abdomen, shove the needle in, then push the plunger. The med? LEFT A LUMP!
So we go through five minutes of me saying IT LEFT A LUMP! Is it supposed to do that? and Paul saying I’m sure you’re okay and me saying BUT IT LEFT A LUMP!
I forgot to release what I pinched before I hit the plunger IT LEFT A LUMP while I massage the lump. Lather, rinse, repeat. Paul, by now gritting his teeth, said take your shower and see after that. So I do.
I get out of the shower, I put my fingers down, can’t feel where the lump is or even find the place where I injected. Paul said see?
I messaged my friend, Marguerite, who is a cardiac nurse and asked her if I screwed myself. Once she stopped laughing, she said no.
Some people went out on Friday nights in 2012; I injected forty units of screaming yellow medicine and found new ways of making myself crazy.