St. Patrick’s Day.
5 days after my birthday.
I had my first shot last Friday. I never thought I would ever be so happy to get a shot. I ventured into the office bright and early, so that I could head straight to work afterwards. I wore my security blanket; my favorite Batman sweatshirt brought me comfort as I stepped into the waiting room and took a seat. The moment I stepped into the office, I was overcome with nerves and could barely stop my shaking hands long enough to scroll through Facebook. The most I was able to manage was a quick snapchat, asking those who saw it to wish me luck, as I was moments away from beginning T.
The moment they called my name, all was right in the world. It was as if I wasn’t nervous at all as I walked into the exam room and went through all the standard questions with the intake person. Since I had only been in the previous week, there wasn’t much to talk about. Mostly just affirmations that the answers were the same as they had been the week before. The moment she was done, the practitioner stepped in and sat down.
“Are you ready for the first day of the rest of your life?” She asked; she was, it seemed, as excited as I was to be a part of my journey. I could only nod emphatically and stammer out broken words in agreement. If I tried to speak out loud, surely I would cry.
I paid close attention as she explained the process and the steps to follow. As I figured out how to pull the solution into the syringe, and then switch the needles out, I catalogued everything with extreme care into the recesses of my memory. This is, after all, a process that I will likely use for the rest of my life unless I choose to change the type of injection I give myself as time goes on. Important stuff, which means I have to be very careful to learn it all!
When the moment finally came, and I was ready to go, the practitioner backed up and let me do it. As I brought the needle down and it entered my skin, I had to choke back tears as I pushed the solution into my body. When I was done, I truly lost the battle to keep my composure. I had to take several moments before I was able to speak to the practitioner. Luckily, she seemed to understand and let me take the time that I needed, even giving me a hug with multiple exclamations of “congratulations!” as the appointment ended.
It’s heard to explain to someone what exactly that moment felt like. I still don’t know that I’ve found the adequate words to portray exactly the utter joy that came over me the moment I put that bandaid over the tiny puncture wound. It can be explained as a type of euphoria, I suppose. It was as if, in that moment, everything lined up perfectly and showed me what true happiness was.
Only three days have passed since that moment, and I am not naïve enough to think that there are any noticeable changes as of yet. There was one brief moment yesterday where my voice got a tiny bit scratchy and I freaked out thinking that miraculously my voice was changing much faster than anticipated. This morning I woke up feeling stuffy so I’m almost entirely certain that my scratchiness is related to that.
I am, however, endlessly thirsty. I can not drink enough water, which translates to a lot of restroom breaks. This isn’t the most convenient, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s a very small price to pay to finally be happy. That will always be my number one goal.
Here’s to the rest of my life. Until next time..