So. Lupron. Heard of it?
If not, allow me to school you.
Lupron is a shot that sends its victim patient into medical menopause.
Nothing like medical menopause at 27 years old.
I was becoming okay with the idea of a big shot to send me into crazy until I found out how much it was.
If a pharmacists gives you a serious look and says, “We don’t carry that in the pharmacy because it’s just too expensive.” what number pops into your head? $500 popped into mine.
I went home to research this overly expensive shot that would assure me weeks of hot flashes in the middle of an Indiana summer.
What I found was this.
That’s per shot people. PER SHOT. And I need three.
Apparently there is an entire “LUPRON DEPARTMENT” where they take care of insurance billing and what not.
I’ll bet there’s not many of you who have ever had a medication that had an entire department dedicated to it.
After finding out about LupronLand and realizing that a TWO THOUSAND DOLLAR SHOT was not going to make me rich, skinny or beautiful I did what any emotional eater would do.
I got creative.
That right there is a grilled peanut butter, chocolate and marshmallow sandwich. And it was my lunch.
Before visiting LupronLand I have one minor thing to get out of the way. I’ll will be referring to it as “that thing in Chicago” so as not to bother those who are unable to make it to “that thing in Chicago.”
As of this moment Canada will not let Mr. Lady leave (for those of you who don’t know, I am considered Mr. Lady Light. All the awesome without the swears, body piercings or liquor consumption) And if Canada continues to hold Mr. Lady hostage I will be filling in as moderator at the “PatientBloggers – You Are Not Your Disease, You Just Blog About It” panel at “that thing in Chicago.” I’ll be sharing the stage with three lovelies in the blogging world, Loolwa, Kerri and Jenni. If you’ll be at “that thing in Chicago” it will be the third session on Friday from 2:45-4:00 pm.
Mr. Lady hand picked me to fill in for her in case she couldn’t make it. At first I though that I would never fit on a panel about illness blogging. (Unless the illness was an intense addiction to SYTCYD.) But then I realized I write about my personal health a lot on here. Depression. Infertility. RAINBOWS GALORE MOST DAYS.
It wasn’t until I was recovering from my surgery a few weeks ago that I went through and tagged all of my infertility posts as such.
I write about my bunk lady parts a lot. Like a lot a lot. Thanks for coming back despite the fact.
I figured the least I could do to thank you for all of your support and patience with me and my uterus I’d introduce you to the little wench organ. (I’m inserting it small. As a favor to you eating your grilled peanut butter, chocolate and marshmallow sandwiches. If you really want to see her? CLICK IT! IT EVEN HAS WITTY COMMENTARY FROM YOURS TRULY!)
So yes. There it is.
Let’s run down the optimistic list of why it is awesome to be infertile.
- I get to have pictures of my uterus.
- I get to have x-ray pictures of my uterus.
- We don’t have to use condoms.
- I get to have shots that cost more per ounce than liquid gold.
- Itchy glued on scabs. (seriously? The glue they used to glue me shut with over three weeks ago? WILL NOT COME OFF.)
Now if you’ll excuse me. There is a grilled peanut butter sandwich calling my name…
OH! And I got my hairs painted!
Okay. Sandwich. BAI!
(Oh, P.S. Will you be at “that thing in Chicago?” Tell me if you are! Or just, uh, tell me what you had for breakfast if you won’t be able to be there. *ahem*)