About Being Alone with My Needle.

When I read about the ABC drugs in InsideMS, I ran (in my gimpy way) right down to my doctor's office and begged her to recommend the one she thought was right for me. She chose the C drug, Copaxone.

Copaxone's active ingredient (glatiramer acetate) resembles the structure of the basic protein of myelin--the very thing our immune system likes to snack on, which causes us to move and hurt and klutz around the way we do. This stuff supposedly tricks the damaging T-cells into munching on it instead of the real myelin, hopefully preventing, or at least reducing, further damage to it.

I was pretty excited about the whole thing until I found out that I had to inject it with a needle every day. Then I told myself, "What's a little stick before bed compared with my usual physical and mental pains of the morning?" So I got used to the idea pretty fast. Especially when I thought of even crazier things I've done, like skydiving.

Besides, I think of myself as a fairly logical person. So I'm thinking that maybe if this medicine takes my disease's mind off of my nerves, that instead of my brain trying to adapt to the daily dilapidation of bodily functions, it will have a chance to find different work. It might concentrate more on performing those mundane things that everyone else takes for granted, like walking. Just a theory, but I'm trying to be optimistic here. Realistically, Copaxone--just like Avonex and Betaseron, the other ABC therapies--is meant to reduce the frequency of relapses associated with relapsing-remitting MS. I happen to be one of those with secondary-progressive MS--it's unknown if any of these drugs will even help me--but I'm hoping that this will hold me over until there is a total cure.

I did it my way

So OK. I'd accepted the idea of a needle stick until ... I saw where it was I would be poking myself. Nothing horrible, really, unless you're alone! There are places where that needle has to go that I can't see without a mirror--or 2 mirrors, for that matter.

The first 3 days were easy. I had to do the top of one thigh the first day and the other thigh the second. Boom, done. Believe it or not, doing it to my belly the third day was even simpler. I was sure glad I never got around to that liposuction I desired way back when.

Naturally, my imagination was in second gear by day 4 because the next injection was to take place in my backside. I couldn't reach that before my shoulder stopped working normally and began to feel out of its socket. When injection time came, I resorted to the best idea that I could come up with. I pressed my behind against the corner of a wall with my pants at half-mast, twisted my position to smear the cheek to one side as much as possible, and quickly stuck it before my flesh could change its mind and snap back out of sight. The needle slipped out before I could manipulate the plunger, and I ended up having to do it all over again, except this time with deeper concentration. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to doing the other side.

[The National MS Society recommends that Copaxone users follow proper injection procedures learned from a doctor or nurse, especially since it's possible to damage the sciatic nerve, which is located near the buttocks. The upper outer quadrant of the buttocks is generally the safest location to inject.]

The next day was soon upon me, and so was the cabbage-beans-and-corn-bread curse I acquired at lunch. Being at work kept me holding in every pain that thundered about my insides. When I got home, I headed straight for the toilet. While sitting there, I noticed how well the seat pushed up that newly appreciated blubber I've been reaching for. I almost heard a choir rejoicing. I tried my injection from this position, and it worked wonderfully.

My next challenge was the back of my arms. The first thing I did when I got all these boxes and bottles of medicine and supplies was buy a brand-new tackle box with a deep bottom where I could stash all the syringes and two upper shelves where I could put cotton balls, alcohol swabs, daily vitamins, and other drugs I'm taking. When it's closed with a towel on top, I have something to drape my upper arm over, and it squishes that flabby part on the back outward so that I can reach it. It isn't the easiest thing to do, but it works.

The beat goes on

After 6 months, my methods haven't changed much, except I found out that sitting on the bed is more comfortable than the commode, and I give my arms a shot at a 45 [degrees] angle ever since the day I stuck myself in the muscle and had a toothache in my arm for 15 minutes. The angle thing works real well. Especially when I switch sides and my other hand isn't strong enough to squish the 2 inches of skin you're supposed to pinch wherever you give yourself the shot. The instructions (and the nurse Teva Marion Partners provided) tell you to do that.

It was frightening having to rely on just myself at first, but now that I feel like an expert, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mary Ann O'Driscoll reported on her adventures snowboarding in the Winter 1999 InsideMS. She is chief editor for Industrial Relations magazine.