You want me to do what?

Yesterday Dave was diagnosed with deep vein thrombosis. As a self-proclaimed hypochondriac (Jenn and Lisa banned me from WebMD when we lived in HK) I am probably one of the few people who have read the article about DVT that they bury in the back of the in-flight magazine (women who take oral contraceptives are at an increased risk!). It has long been on my list of things to worry about/think I have every time I have a sore leg after a long flight.

We believe Dave's DVT, also known as "economy class syndrome," is an oh-so-pleasant after effect of all the flying we had to do for our honeymoon. What it means is that he has a blood clot in his leg and has to stay home with it elevated for the next five or so days. The good news is that the clot is not in a major vein. As for treatment, he was put on an anticoagulant in order to try to break up the clot which, here in Brazil, is prescribed to patients in the form of a daily injection. What a pain, you must be thinking, to have to go to the doctor every day to get an injection. Wrong. The injection is to be administered at home. By whom, you ask. That would be me.

I do not like needles. I realize that not many people jump for joy when faced with the prospect of an injection, but I cringe, I cover my face, I have been known to cry. I had never, though, until today, been on the other end of the injection equation. Perhaps some would say that this was my chance to face my fear, to take hold of the needle and feel empowered... the truth is that I was even more cringy than when I am getting a shot. I started to feel nauseous as the real patient laid there calmly waiting for me to stick him in the stomach (okay, more like the side). I did it, but it was even worse than the time I had to administer an enema to a loved one. I guess it's a good thing that I abandoned my dream of becoming a doctor the summer after my junior year of high school. One shot down, five more to go...