You’re Capable Of Anything
“It goes under his skin, like this,” she said.
“First, pinch the skin at the back of his neck and draw it up. He’ll naturally go still. Then the needle goes right here, in that sort of triangle the stretched skin creates. Make sure you inject the full dose. Feel for any wet patches after. If it’s wet it means the dose didn’t go in and you’ll probably have to do it again.”
I hate needles.
The last time I went to the St. Thomas’s hospital for a blood test, I cried.
In my defense though, it didn’t help that it was my birthday and I was alone (my boyfriend was on tour, probably somewhere between Spain and Portugal). Also, a girl was playing full-on-goosebumps-beautiful piano in the echoey waiting hall. Yep, not helpful either.
When it was over, I sat in the hospital gardens watching the Thames for quite a while.
It’s strange really, given my mum has been a nurse all her life.
And then Rascal, one of our cats, got diagnosed with diabetes. Meaning he needs insulin jabs twice a day, after food, at around the same time. I knew it was going to have to be me. I’m home more.
“Don’t worry if he struggles and you accidentally inject yourself, just eat something sweet fast,” the vet said. It made us laugh. I appreciated her for it. We must have looked terrified.
Well, the moment just before you slide in the needle is the worst. It takes will to overcome the dread and just do it. Then you have to remember to actually press the other end of the syringe so the insulin goes in. Listen in for the tiny spraying sound. Check there’s no leftover liquid. It’s a lot to squeeze into the few seconds the cat gives you.
Although Rascal has been such an angel, full of patience. I definitely injected him with air a few times. Turns out it even takes practice to learn how to draw a syringe correctly.
Two months in, I can do it with my eyes closed.
I’d never in a million years have imagined that.
And Rascal’s blood sugar levels are steadily getting better.