My Child on Genotropin

Two shots down. Tuesday, say one,  was pretty dramatic.  I picked Natasha up from school and she cried for most of the 10 minute ride home. Miles was waiting for us when we got there, and Natasha continued to cry increasingly hysterically the entire time he was there.I concentrated admirably under the circumstances, all things considered.  At that point I was feeling more businesslike that emotional, actually. Miles was required by Pfizer to read a script, and then I (in true therapist style) mirrored what he said in my own words, rendering the instructions more understandable. All of this led up to the actual injection, during which N tensed her muscles so much it was a lot harder than necessary. But we got it done.  Yesterday was day 2. The “starter kit” with the Sharps disposable needle container, extra needles, alcohol swabs,  handy dandy travel case, and various information was still on the table from the night before. Miles had commented on how many extra needles they had sent us, so while trying to figure out where to put all this stuff I spontaneously decided that, if I was going to be reassuring Natasha that this was all no big deal, I ought to have a clue what I was talking about. So I opened up one of the needles and stuck it in my leg (no meds attached). I literally did not feel a thing, and I’m no big macho shot-getter. That definitely made a difference last night for shot two. I told Natasha what I had done and asked her to please, please try and relax, be cool, not make such a big deal about it. She put an ice pack on for a minute, took it off and I did the dirty deed. She actually laughed afterwards, asking incredulously whether “that was it?” Okay, she said, I admit I was really wimpy last night because that wasn’t bad at all.Sigh of relief. Maybe this actually will become not all that different from brushing teeth–just another part of our kind of nonexistent bedtime ritual. We remembered to measure her, too. Now I have to start sending out good thoughts and hopes into the universe that this whole Genotropin experiment is actually going to work.  

Lots of nervousness around here. I have caught Natasha crying in her room or off in private places a few times. She’s also been an on-and-off raging bitch, about which I am cutting her a little slack because (alas) that is often how I express my own anxiety so, while not pleasant, I can relate. Plus we’re all pretty beat from a few extra late nights thanks to Passover seders on Saturday and Sunday.

Tomorrow is the day that will change our lives. Let’s hope for the better.

Miles is set to come to our house Tuesday at 4 pm. I was pretty calm scheduling the appointment but I’m getting a nervous stomach writing about it right now.In response to my question about whether we will begin injections that day, Miles made it very clear that Natasha will be administered her first dose of Genotropin, but not by him. He will guide us through the process but cannot touch the patient. That’s what he said. Cannot touch the patient. She can give it to herself or we can give it to her but he cannot touch her. Home healthcare sure is friendly these days. I kind of want to push her and make her bump into him and see what happens if he, you know, touches her. But it’s probably better that she or I have to do the dirty deed right from the start, since we will be the primary injectors anyway. Wow. This whole thing keeps getting more and more real. I guess the good news for Natasha is that I will let her miss Hebrew school, which is from 4:30-6pm. See. There’s always an upside to everything.

Our starter kit arrived today, complete with needles, alcohol swab, “pen,” how-to DVD, refrigerator-safe storage case and a random backpack apparantely included to make the kid feel like all of this is going to be fun, fun, fun. It’s not working in our house.

Natasha is aware of what is going on, aware that the shots are going to begin sometimes next week, and is for the time being living in denial. I know she doesn’t want to watch the DVD, because the video is available online and she didn’t want to see it there. I haven’t pressed the backpack on her yet.

Put in a call to the insurance to let them know we got the starter kit, and now await a call from our nurse named Miles. And then we’re off…

I spent a lot of time doing yard work today and dealing with my ego. Last night I surfed the internet more extensively than before– and I thought I’d done a pretty extensive search– and finally found some message boards for parents of children on Genotropin.
 
Wow. Parents talking about things like six month old children who aren’t growing at all but are too young for treatment. Lots of scary stuff. Made me so very grateful that our issue is, in the realm of issues, so very, very small (ha ha. Get it? Small? Growth hormone? )
I realized that it is kind of absurd, my rushing to start a blog as if no one has ever gone through this before. I imagine there are some out there. But damn, they are hard to find.

So here it is: the blog of the experiences of a family whose older daughter is in a not terribly dire situation which is nonetheless serious enough to merit injected hormone treatment.

Tomorrow the starter pack is slated to arrive, at which point I call back insurance to go over a checklist. Theirs, not mine.

Blogs about genotropin use are pretty hard to find, unless you want information about illegal use by athletes. If you find this and know anyone who could benefit and contribute, please spread the word.

 I have been searching multiple engines to no avail, so I’m falling back on word of mouth.