Take Two Shots and Call Me in the Morning...

And now I have pink eye.

As if TIG weren't enough.  

After I threw up this afternoon, Chris insisted I go to the doctor.  It seems I was getting worse.  He came home as quickly as he could and I went to the urgent care clinic.  

Negative for flu and strep.

Doctor came in and did his exam and says...

"You okay with shots?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay.  Let's do two.  An antibiotic and a steroid.  Two okay with you?"

"I have an invitro baby.  On our third attempt."

Laughs.  "Okay, so yeah, you're good."

"I mean, I could give 'em to myself if you'd like."

Laughs.  "Nah.  We'll let the nurse do it."

These are just the kinds of conversations THAT NEVER GET OLD.

My voice is raspy and I haven't smelled anything expect Rhys' poopy diapers in five days but infertility humor is always good.

At least it makes me laugh.

And since I was the one getting a shot in each hip, I'm the only one who counts.  

By the time I'd driven home, I could breathe.  That's a flippin' miracle.  I also have an entire pharmacy worth of drugs.  Legal drugs.  Drugs to kill this TIG stuff.  

I'm gonna take my drugs, let the hot water of the shower hopefully help my bruised hips,  then drink some of the a.maz.ing cough syrup and CRASH.

Thankfully, it's snowing/sleeting/icing here tonight so hopefully, Chris will be here tomorrow morning.  

Cause I'm gonna need some extra time to sleep off the drunk I'm about to get.

Yo.