Round No. 2 & Raclette

"I can do your shots," said my crazy French friend.

I'd asked her if she wanted to come over last night for dinner, but warned her that the reason was I wanted company, since it was the second time I'd be doing my Methotrexate and Enbrel shots on my own.

"I'll inject you," she said again when we talked on the phone at some point. The explanation for her enthusiasm: her dad's a retired doctor, and I think she thinks his skills have somehow worn off on her over time.

So last night she shows up at 7ish (those Europeans eat late). I'd had a not-great day at work. A colleague joked that I needed "topping up" with drugs. Maybe she was right. I have no clue why I was feeling particularly shaky. Was it because I was due for the next set of injections? Was it because I'd been achy in spots the last couple of days? My knees had been bothering me a bit, and then my legs just plain felt like jelly, almost as if the knee joints were really loose. Bizarre! Maybe it was simply because I hadn't been sleeping very well.

Anyway, I left work, reviewed some copy I'd brought back home with me, then just laid down and read a book till CFF (crazy French friend) arrived, since it was too late to take a nap.

When I started getting ready for the shots, once again, she said, "I can do that if you want!"

I declined and said it's OK and did the Methotrexate one. Then, while we were waiting for the Enbrel syringe to reach room temp, she admitted, "Actually I'm not very good with needles."

"Now, you say that!" I exclaimed.

"But it's OK, it's you they're going into! If it was me it would be different!" she said. "But I felt a little funny while you were pushing that in."

"Great," I said. "Last week Tracey was here and she had said she might faint while I was doing it, but she was fine and sat there while I was doing the whole thing. You kept saying you wanted to do the shots, then it turns out you'd be the one to pass out and end up on the floor right when I have a needle stuck in me and can't do anything!"

Lord! My crazy French friend!

Actually the real reason she came over is because she never fails to make me laugh – and so we could have raclette. She has a raclette machine (pictured below). It's essentially a small grill. You cook vegetables or shrimp, etc., on it, and under the grill you slide little trays loaded up with raclette cheese (or other types according to taste) to melt. Yummy and supereasy!

And another reason behind the raclette and the company? To distract me from the injections. I don't really have a problem with them, but they still make my heart race a bit, nonetheless. Takes some getting used to, injecting yourself...