Shot Day - in more ways than one

All Right, so I just gave myself my Humira Injection, and I’m writing this with the hope that it will distract me for a little while. 

Every two weeks I have this nice little thing I call “Shot Day.”  I give the whole day homage because the psychological trauma, pre- and post-shot ritual, pain, and side-effects seem to make the entire day tremendously Sucky!

You’d think that after taking this medication for two years I would be an old pro, but sadly, I am not.  The truth is that every two weeks I dread Shot Day as much as I did that very first time.  I mean come on, getting used to sticking a needle in your leg should not be something that becomes old hat.  (By the way, Humira cutely calls their NEEDLE a Pen – give me a break.)

Now before any Diabetics jump down my throat and stomp on my liver, I humbly admit that your plight is much worse than mine, at least in terms of needles, etc., and I have nothing but the utmost respect and pity for you.  However, in my defense, I’ve been told that the type of medicine I inject, and the needle size I use, is different than any other types of medications out there, and that the injection is difficult (a gross understatement) for everyone.  But I tell you with the utmost sincerity, that does not make me feel one bit better.

I love how the manufacturer says the medication may sting.  May Sting!  It does NOT sting.  I was a beekeeper for over a decade, I know about stings, and I’d gladly welcome back my little furry friends in exchange for that stinking needle (yes, I have a thing about needles, but still).  The first time I gave myself the shot, I screamed so loud for my Momma that she opened the door to see if I was outside, AND SHE LIVES TWO STATES OVER.  I’m perfectly fine with my masculinity, so you can take my word that I didn’t break down and cry, but I did cuss like a sailor (to those sailors who do not cuss I apologize) for a while.  Sting my flabby fanny!  (Which, by the way, is not where the shot goes.  You can chose either the top of the thigh or the stomach below the belly button – yeah, right, I’m gonna jab a 3-foot needle in my belly and call it a day.)

I have learned, over time, that when I hit the button on the self-injector, and the massive needle rips into my tender flesh, one of two fates await me:  Either the shot will be excruciating for a couple of minutes and then fade into just a dull ache with lots of bruising; or the shot will sting (I use that word with heavy sarcasm), for a couple of minutes and then my leg will feel like I plunged it into a cuisinart, plus, it will hurt like the dickens (which I’ve heard is a euphemism for the devil) for the next few days.  Hard to believe, but I prefer the excruciating two minute pain, because the cuisinart thing is really unpleasant (yes, more sarcasm).

I’d tell you more about the process (like all the prep I have to do leading up to the shot, etc.), but sometimes it helps to walk around a while after the shot, really I mean hobble while dragging one leg and whimpering, and so I’m off to tour the house (and most likely call out for salvation each time I accidentally bump my leg).

In closing, for those of you who don’t know much about Humira, despite the rather unpleasant process of stabbing myself every two weeks, nothing has worked to reduce my RA pain as much as Humira has.  For the most part, the medication works by suppressing the immune system, which is where the bulk of the relief comes from (remember, with RA it’s your immune system that is trying to kill you). 

Sometime, when I’m not blubbering as much as I am right now, I’ll try to do a better job in discussing the benefits of Humira, but for right now I seem to be heading toward the cuisinart result I mentioned earlier, and so I’ll leave you with the only thing worth saying:  MOMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAA!!!