Doctor asked me if I wanted him to inject me in the office or just go home and do it myself. After a moment of reflection, I told him that about 45 years ago while in a 7th grade, a teacher made me to stand up in front of the class so she could see what I was hiding in my pocket. She obviously hadn't considered what my raging hormones were capable of putting in my pocket. I confided to the doctor that based on that earlier experience, at the age of 56, I'd rather not walk through a urologists waiting room with the same thing in my pocket that had been there in 7th grade and I preferred the self administered version at home. He warned me that some men find it difficult to inject themselves in this sensitive area the first time. I assured him that it wouldn't be a problem for me because I had done numerous stupid things in my life in order to have sex and stabbing myself in the penis with a needle wouldn't even make the top 10. Big talk, huh, - I was apparently convincing enough though, because after he stopped laughing, he gave me a couple of "make sure you do this" orders and sent me home.
Although I'd been thinking about the shot therapy for awhile, I had purposely not discussed it with my wife because previously, on more than one occassion, she had passed out while getting a shot. Although she's a trooper, I knew that once I shared the details about the therapy with her, neither of us would benefit by having an extended period of contemplation. So, about four hours after arriving at home from the doctors office, I showed my wife the injection kit. While she was still dazed from the sight of the needle, I successfully coaxed her into the bedroom where she displayed her normal amount of eagerness and enthusiasm, which I'm confident now comes from loyalty and love rather than exerberence and anticipation. Meanwhile, I was in the bathroom wide eyed and naked in front of the mirror with a syringe in one hand and my helpless, not so promising looking Johnson in the other, trying to read instructions printed in 6 point type.
I must tell you that since puberty, I have not successfully kept many secrets from that little guy between my legs. Aware of my intent, he had assumed a self defense mode and was attempting, with some success, to shrink to a small size not previously seen. I remember looking down at the situation and thinking - "that needle will go clear thru it and come out the other side." Somehow I was able to compose myself long enough to maneuver the little guy, against his will, into a position that allowed me to plunge the needle in. Surprisingly, there was no pain, and as I injected the medication, he instantly quit struggling, looked up at me with an expression that seemed to be saying, "thankyou". I joined my lovely bride in bed and the not so little guy showed his appreciation by providing my wife and me with the best couple of hours that we've had in a long time. --- recovery is getting better-