An interesting thing: I was afraid of the Lupron needle last night. Not afraid like the first time I ever stabbed myself, but still. I hesitated, cringing away from the unbearable pain that I knew must follow.  I went back and forth – will it hurt less on the right side of my belly or my right?  What if I’m forgetting some crucial step and blood spurts?  What if I can’t do it and have to run around the house with the syringe dangling from me like a bloated tick trying to find the Boy so he can finish it?

Sigh.

Nothing of the sort.  It was easy. Of course it was. It was Lupron.  Easy in, but you pay for it later.  So why the trauma?  Then I realized, it’s been almost 9 months since I’ve been on non-PIO injectables.  At the very beginning of that short-lived “Damn, we shouldn’t have put you on Lupron since you managed to get yourself pregnant” pregnancy that would have been, well, a full term baby right around now.  That was a long time ago.  No wonder I was a bit freaked out.

As always, the Lupron bottle looks like jokesters at the factory emptied half the vial before shipping it.  I actually googled “Lupron half full” and came up with enough bloggers making the same comment that I was reassured.  Also came up with many blog entries comparing their pessimism/optimism levels.  I still don’t see how this bitty half-full vial will last for a month or so, but hey – I’m just the recipient, here.  Nothing to see, nothing to worry about.  Or so they say.

Personally, I’m starting to freak out.  Four to five weeks from yesterday – assuming all goes well.  What if all doesn’t go well? What if-

Deep breath.  See?  Another freak out.

So to distract myself from the freak-outs that are increasingly taking over my life (and, oooh, I just can’t wait for Lupron brain to make the freak-outs all rage-y, as well!) I’m going to try to take my mind off the fact that none of this is going to be about me for quite a while by striving toward some goals that have been eluding me during this down-time.

• Lose 20 pounds.  Ok, I’m kidding.  But losing some weight will help me feel in charge.  Since “eating more healthily” hasn’t done much except making me feel perkier, I think I have to come right out and say it (and act like it).  As of today, I am on a diet.  A caloric-reduction diet.  Because I am a cow.
• I will not buy another bag of coffee – not even decaf.  I will let the bag I have run out in another couple of days.  I will switch to some herbal, innocuous tea and I will not mourn.  Much.  At least not in public.
• I will stop drinking wine at night, which should also help with the diet resolution.  I lurves me my white wine, and it’s nice to me right back, in that I never get headachy or drunken no matter how much I sip at during the evening, but really?  Not so good for me.  Not now.

And of course, I will stab myself in my soon-to-be-shrinking gut every night.   And take my vitamin.  And I will try to stay as stress-free as possible.  And I will pester my nurse for updates on Ms. DonorFantastica until they just give in and call me automatically.

And then I will wait.  And I will hope.  And wait.  And hope.  And wait.  And hope.