Drugs are bad. But sometimes they're good.

We got our ginormous box of meds in the mail Friday. The box was WAY bigger than I had expected. Originally I was going to have the FedEx guy just leave them on our front porch..but the woman I ordered them from had a little lilt in her voice ("...are you sure you want to leave them on the front porch? Are you sure you don't want to sign for them? Okaaaaaaaay....."). That made me think a little - I guess the box of meds IS worth over $3K. But who wants a bunch of meds that make you bitchy, bloated, and possibly give you ovaries the size of Texas? But, ya never know. We do live in Seattle. In a rather crappy neighborhood. It would be funny, though, if someone stole it, expecting some major prize that they could resell at the pawn shop, and all they got were these crummy meds.

Also last week, we had a little training session on how to administer all these wonderful drugs. Because they all must be injected, you have to take a little class to make sure you don't stick the needle in the wrong place or poke your eye out. B and I sat around a table with two other couples. I spent most of the time trying to figure out if the women were older than me. One for sure (I think), the other maybe the same age (but she seemed older). For some reason this was really important to me. Way more important than practicing sticking a needle in a big ball of foam. My mind was busy constructing a story for each of the women: one was a successful career woman who decided at the last minute to produce offspring with her successful husband; the other a woman who had some horrible things happen to her Fallopian tubes. Somehow it made me feel better to know that there were two women, about my age, who were going thought the same thing. They both decided to take the chance, knowing the odds are only 38% in their favor.