Dr. Seuss
In order to keep myself motivated, I have been posting the completion of each shot on my Facebook page. My first statement was simply, "Shot one is done." When I went to post about shot two, I decided I wanted to make them all rhyme for as long as I could. Thus, I posted, "Shot two is through." After shot four, a friend of mine asked whether this was a Dr. Seuss book. I thought that was funny and irreverent and, therefore, the perfect thing for my blog. And so, without further ado, I present to you:
Shots for Tots
Shot one is done.
Shot two is through.
How many self-shots can you do?
Shot three is history.
Shot four is out the door.
I can tell Phil didn't watch, he isn't on the floor.
I survived shot number five.
I kicked shot number six.
How much longer can I keep up with rhyming antics?
Shot seven tests my inner will.
Shot eight bring wishes for a pill.
Yet still I poke, and hope don't choke and, 'lo, improve my skill.
Still doing fine after shot nine.
Shot ten disturbed my zen.
But I press on, 'til meds are gone--again, again, again.
Eleven shots are now complete.
Shot twelve does not feel like a treat.
But for a baby on the way, these wretched shots are here to stay.
Unlucky thirteen's shot has come.
With fourteen we are halfway done.
It seems I cannot be more brief, and so we all wait for relief.
Shot fifteen turned out okay.
Shot sixteen has had its day.
But more shots come because until done my doctors I obey.
Although eighteen feels like the billionth,
at least we're in procedure month.
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one
Would they be easier with a blowgun?
Twenty-two and three and four,
All the pain I must ignore.
Twenty-five and six and seven,
Almost done, that sounds like heaven.
Twenty-eight is finally here.
"No more shots," I shout and cheer.
Four more days until bed rest.
Then twelve more until blood test.
Shots are bad, but waiting's worse.
This whole thing feels like a curse.
If the phone call brings good news, I can go buy baby shoes!
If results are negative, moods will be much less festive.
But either way, I will have shown,
I'm so much stronger than I'd known.
And so concludes this counting tale.
Of what my FET entails.
Shots for Tots
Shot one is done.
Shot two is through.
How many self-shots can you do?
Shot three is history.
Shot four is out the door.
I can tell Phil didn't watch, he isn't on the floor.
I survived shot number five.
I kicked shot number six.
How much longer can I keep up with rhyming antics?
Shot seven tests my inner will.
Shot eight bring wishes for a pill.
Yet still I poke, and hope don't choke and, 'lo, improve my skill.
Still doing fine after shot nine.
Shot ten disturbed my zen.
But I press on, 'til meds are gone--again, again, again.
Eleven shots are now complete.
Shot twelve does not feel like a treat.
But for a baby on the way, these wretched shots are here to stay.
Unlucky thirteen's shot has come.
With fourteen we are halfway done.
It seems I cannot be more brief, and so we all wait for relief.
Shot fifteen turned out okay.
Shot sixteen has had its day.
But more shots come because until done my doctors I obey.
Although eighteen feels like the billionth,
at least we're in procedure month.
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one
Would they be easier with a blowgun?
Twenty-two and three and four,
All the pain I must ignore.
Twenty-five and six and seven,
Almost done, that sounds like heaven.
Twenty-eight is finally here.
"No more shots," I shout and cheer.
Four more days until bed rest.
Then twelve more until blood test.
Shots are bad, but waiting's worse.
This whole thing feels like a curse.
If the phone call brings good news, I can go buy baby shoes!
If results are negative, moods will be much less festive.
But either way, I will have shown,
I'm so much stronger than I'd known.
And so concludes this counting tale.
Of what my FET entails.