You Want Me To Do WHAT Now?

According to my pharmacy records I switched to the suppository version of the progesterone replacement drug Prometrium on November 9th, 2010.

I remember that I didn't get it immediately, though, because Dr. G initially prescribed a suppository ointment, and evidently that version of the drug is super expensive, and my insurance refused to pay for it because pregnancy support is not one of the approved usages of the medication.

So the Doc had to call in a second prescription, this time for a suppository pill, and then the pharmacy had to order it and get it in, and then finally we could go and pick it up. Each hour of every day that I spent taking the oral medication is engraved indelibly upon my memory, as one long slog through illness and misery. Having an extra week or so of being required to take the oral meds, after making the decision to switch to the suppository, was salt in a wound. I could see the rest of the first trimester stretching out before me - I still had something like 6 or 7 weeks to go before I could even consider halting the Progesterone, and if I had to survive 6 weeks taking the oral meds, both Sandy and I would probably have gone utterly mad. Me, because I felt hideous and awful, and I couldn't eat and could barely move. Sandy, because he was living with this chick.

One evening, I recall it clearly, Sandy came to my bedside...where I lay in the middle of the afternoon, stinking and bizarre-looking, my hair all in horns and snarls, my skin pasty, with the oily green shine of someone who knows that at any moment, they may have to make use of the emergency bucket on the floor next to them. In short, I'm pretty sure the moment reminded Sandy of that one time, in Virginia, where I took the jello shot equivalent of 8 vodka shots, polished off a bottle of lemoncello, then made myself something called a "Triple Goddess", (1 part milk, 1 part Baileys, 1 part Kahlua, 1 part Godiva chocolate liquor.) Then I ate a buffalo steak and spent two hours in a hot tub. You can only imagine the pyrotechnics that resulted. I urge you not to imagine it though. It was truly horrible.

Anyway, he came to my bedside, and he hid his revulsion very carefully, and he said, as lovingly as only a man currently terrified of his wife can, "Sweetheart, is there anything that I can do for you?"

And I opened one eye to look at him, and I croaked, with a voice gone rusty with disuse, "Yes. You can seriously lower your expectations for how many children I will be bearing you."

In the meantime, the doctor was happy that I was so miserable, because he said, "the worse you feel, the better for the baby!" Which caused me to begin to view B.O.B. as a force for great evil dwelling within my womb. (And since at the last ultrasound, B.O.B. gave Sandy, Dr. G, and myself all the finger, that opinion hasn't changed.)

That's all I'm going to say about the oral Prometrium. I think you guys have got the picture pretty clearly. I'm certain that by now, you all understand fully why I decided to switch to the vaginal suppository form of the medication, despite any squickiness I may have felt regarding suppositories in general. Some things you just get over, because the alternative is obviously worse.

At long last, the pharmacy called to say that they'd received the suppository, and that we could come and pick it up. They did this by calling me* and saying the following:

Dude From Pharmacy: "Hi, is Vanessa _______ there?"

Me: "This is she."

DFP: "This is _____ from _______ pharmacy. I'm calling to let you know your prescription has come in."

Me: "Oh great, thank you!"

DFP: "Yeah. It's the suppository? The VAGINAL suppository? Prometrium?"

Me: *much more subdued* "Yes. Yes. Um. Thanks."

DFP: "You DID order a vaginal suppository right?"

Me: *practically whispering* "YES. Thank you."

DFP: "Okay then. The suppository will be here for you, Miss ______, at the pharmacy counter. Come on by at your convenience to collect it."

Me: *nearly inaudibly* "Thank you again."

CLICK.

With a beginning like that, what could possibly go wrong, right? Sandy brought home the new medication that evening. (There was no F*ing way I was driving down there to pick up the prescription after the phone conversation I'd just had. Sandy picked them up on his way home from work.) The mood in the kitchen as we stared at the bag can't really be described. On the one hand, this was clearly going to be entertaining. And there was no way it could make me feel WORSE, so we were both hoping for a reduction in symptoms to result. Thus, there was a purple hint of anticipation surrounding the great big chasm of, (in my case), horror. Sandy didn't feel the horror because after all he wasn't the one who was going to have to be taking it.

I opened the bag. I pulled out the bottle. The pills looked fairly innocuous - small white ovules. Smaller than I was expecting. I said to Sandy, "Okay. Pass me the instructions." He handed me the bag, with the pharmacy papers folded and stapled to it. I pulled them off the bag and opened them, and scanned them quickly. All the usual suspects - warnings and side effects etc. The only directions on the papers said, "take by mouth."

I knew that wasn't what I was supposed to do.

I said, "Are there any other instructions?" Sandy shrugged. I looked through the papers again. Nothing. I shook the bag out, not certain what I was looking for. Maybe an applicator? Nothing.

We read the bottle itself. That, all by itself, was cause for hilarity. It read as follows:

One capsule per vagina daily at bedtime

Sandy and I stared at it. Then Sandy looked at me, and said, doubtfully...

"But...what if I have more than one?"

Meanwhile, I was picturing a closet shelf full of vaginas, that all required one before being tucked in at night.

Both of us giggled. The general air in the kitchen had changed to roughly the same feeling as when you bought your first condoms. Terror marinated in embarrassment, then mixed with amusement.

I went to the internet. According to the internet, I was supposed to have a big, bizarre looking, plastic applicator air cannon thingy. The pharmacy had not sent me home with one, and there was no way I was calling them to ask for one. I could only imagine how the conversation would go.

Me: "Hi, this is Vanessa _______. You guys just sent me a vaginal suppository and for the life of me I can't figure out how to get one of these pills up there. Um. Do you guys have like a plunger or tongue depressor or something that I'm supposed to use?"

DFP: *crickets chirping*

Yeah. Not an option. So I did what any self-respecting woman would do. I called my best friend. She's got two kids, and I figured if anyone would know how to handle this situation, she would.

Kara: "Hello?"

Me: "Hey. Hey. Listen. Have you ever had to take a vaginal suppository?"

Kara: "Once, yeah. Why?"

Me: "I've got the pills, but no applicator and zero instructions. How the bloody buggery hell do you get the pills up there???"

Kara: "Ooooooooh..."

There after resulted a short but intense mechanical conversation, of which Sandy could hear only one half, very likely a blessing for him. Since the half he could hear sounded like this:

"Which finger?"

"Wait, toward the back or toward the front?"

"And then what?"

"SHOOTING OUT???"

"What, like that scene with the asian chick and the ping pong balls from 'Priscilla, Queen of the Desert?!?"

"No way."

"Oh jesus."

"Well, for how long do I need to lie down then? I mean no one wants that to happen."

"What if I have to use the bathroom? And by 'what if' I mean I'm TOTALLY going to have to use the bathroom..."

"Oh. Oh. Oh. Okay. Yeah that makes sense."

In a word, y'all: DOOM. (But on the plus side, hurrah for best friends!!) Let us just say that there's a reason why this particular medication says to take it at bedtime. And that reason is gravity.

And that phone conversation is why, around 10 p.m. EST that night, Kara got a text message that simply read:

"GOT IT IN ONE! I am a ninja!"

* Look. I wouldn't ordinarily care about this sort of thing, only it's a VERY local and busy pharmacy, everyone in town knows my last name, and the pharmacy is set up so the phone is right next to the register. Which I know. Thus, this guy basically announced to the entire town that I was going to be the proud new owner of a vaginal suppository. As I was thanking him, I was mentally calculating how long it would take for absolutely everyone that lives here to hear about it. The smart money was placed on: "before dinner."