I am a drama queen.  I guess.  I think one symptom of being a DQ is you don’t think you are.  Until maybe later.

Over the last few days I’ve noticed I’m getting low on PIO (progesterone in oil), which is odd since I have tons of everything else.  But I also thought I had an old vial from my last cycle upstairs.  So I finally went looking for it yesterday, and there isn’t one; so I realized that I would need some more and probably would run out on Sunday.  Since, as you know, my pharmacist is beyond fabulous, I figured I would call him & it would be delivered within a few hours. 

For an hour, I called, and the line just rang.  Eventually a fax tone.  I couldn’t figure it out.  I was feeling really, really tired; I walked a lot that morning and that plus the progesterone … well, as you know, it’s hard to not get pseudo-pregnant during the two week wait.  As in, well I might be pregnant and I really really WANT to be pregnant so let me just encourage the tiredness.  At any other time I’d probably just shrug and push through, do three loads of laundry and God knows what else and forget about being tired.  But I’m pseudo-pregnant, so I was tiiiiired.  Eventually I was starting to freak out about running out of progesterone.  I don’t know what missing a dose or two would do to my possible pregnancy but it can’t be good.

Et This, yesterday, was the second day past my five day transfer.  So I imagine the babies, at this stage, (if they are even still alive) as their actual size, which I suppose is embryonic and not quite microscopic.  But they don’t look like embryos, they look like reaaally tiny babies in there just holding on for dear life.  Without the progesterone I imagine them shriveling up until they look like E.T.

Obviously it was a life or death situation.  So I dragged my tired pseudo pregnant self over to the pharmacy (it’s like four blocks) and they had a piece of tape over their closing time that said "4:00", it was 3:30, the door was locked, and they were in there.  Packing.  Moving.  They had signs all over the place that said "50% off – we are moving two blocks east." 

I banged on the door and eventually some guy came & I said "I need a prescription!" I should have clutched at my heart to make him think it was important – if I clutched in the area of my uterus he would have thought I needed my Meridia or something.  The guy said they won’t be open again til Monday.  The babies shriveled.  I looked frantically at all the people in there moving but no sign of Danny, the pharmacist.  The guy said "Everything’s boxed up.  We’re moving.  We’ve had these signs up all week…" I tapped the sign like a district attorney in a courtroom scene and said "It says ‘50% off’!  Nothing on here about no prescriptions for a day and a half!  That seems to be missing from your signs."

There is this moment during a drama queen incident when the small still voice needs to be saying "it’s not that big a deal," but when I’m having one of those moments, the small still voice is silent.  It just is that big a deal.

Then I said "I don’t know what I’m gonna do."  And the Drugstore Guy, as far from bespectacled, "no problem," let-me-deliver-your-prescriptions, comforting, wonderful Danny as a person could be, said "What do you need?"

Fabulous.  I’m standing on the street on a sunny Saturday.  I’ll just yell it out.  I’m INFERTILE and I need some PROGESTERONE, and maybe I could pull my pants down right here and you could just give me the shot, too.   Nobody’s looking. 

I left before I started sobbing.  Eventually I called the clinic’s weekend emergency line, they called in a prescription at Walgreen’s, my husband picked it up, the babies unshriveled.  DQ moment over.

This is a teeny drawback of depending on the local neighborhood pharmacy.  But it was a once in a lifetime thing so I’m going to whine to Danny about it (after he gets unpacked) and then let it go. 

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