The maiden and her lupron

Gentle reader, let me tell you a story. A story that begins with a woman and her lupron. A woman and her missing lupron, and the hilarity that ensued....

This story starts out just like it has for the past 6 days, with the sound of an alarm clock going off a the ungodly hour of 6:45 a.m. Not trying to wake her fair prince, the maiden lumbers out of bed, cursing the alarm clock, as she is NOT a morning maiden.

The fair maiden stumbles out to the castle living room, turns on the torchlight, and ignoring the pleading and whining from the royal pets about the snack that they would like to have, proceeds to locate her needles and lupron, neatly placed in their box in the royal cabinet. Through blurry eyes, she notices that she has her needle in hand, but cannot find the lupron. "What?" she declares sweetly and princess-like. "However did I misplace my lupron? Well, it cannot have gotten far, for surely I have placed it in the cabinet were the rest of the royal baby-making supplies are."

But lo, the maiden looks high and low, low and high. She takes everything out of the lupron box. She takes everything out of the royal cabinet. She searches by her disposed needle box, by the royal pet boxes, in the refrigerator, in the bathroom and in between the couch cushions.

"Oh dear. Oh dear." she cries, without ever letting a swearword or five hundred pass from her lips. And then she wonders, "did I happen to throw the lupron in the trash yesterday morning when I threw out my royal needle cover and royal isopropanol wipe? Surely, no!"

But alas, it appears that after all this searching, this is the only place left it could be. So at 7:15 a.m. the now grumpy maiden proceeds to get a new trashbag out and place the pieces of trash from the old bag into the new piece by piece. She notices a timeline for the layers of trash, a strata if you will, with tacos for dinner at night covering the needle package and isopropanol wipe from the night before. No lupron yet, but the maiden keeps digging. Ah yes, dirty napkins, scrapings from dinner two days before. Still no lupron. But, it is small, and perhaps it has worked its way to the bottom of the bag. Un-merrily, the maiden digs on until she reaches the coffee grounds at the bottom of the trash bag. No royal lupron. "Shitsy. Oh, I mean deary me! Whatever will I do. I don't want to ring the physician-on-call at the royal fertility clinic. Perhaps I can solve this problem on my own."

So the now less than fair, slightly panicy maiden thinks really, really hard, using the few brain cells that work at what is now 7:30 a.m.

"Aha!" she cries. I have a royal bag of unused medicine in my royal closet. I remember that I had some lupron in there!" So digging into that bag she goes, trying not to think about the amount of royal money that was spent on the usused medications or the failed cycles that they represent.

"Lupron--yes, lupron, there you are, just in the bottom of the bag where I placed you. I shall call the happy little bluebirds to bring me my needle. I shall inject myself with you and then lay myself to slumber.......Oh, sonofabitch the lupron expired in April."

By now the fair maiden was too weary and too irritated to care. She grabbed the expired bottle of lupron, plopped herself down in her loyal chair and injected herself with the expired lupron, figuring that it still had some potency left. Drug companies usually hedge their bets on when their drugs expire. So inject herself she does.

After taking her royal needle and depositing it in the royal needle disposal box and throwing the isopropanol wipe in the *new* garbage bag, she feels a pull. A pull to the royal baby-making medicine cabinet, the one she systematically took apart piece by piece, the one which housed her box with needles and lupron which she searched 5 (yes, five) times. For some reason she opens the box again. Instead of grabbing all the needles in one hand while searching the box, she mearly peers into the box.

And there, nestled in amongst the needles, is HER MISSING BOTTLE OF LUPRON.

"Oh motherf*cking holy hell." Ahem, I mean "Oh fiddlesticks!"