When he said shots, this is not what I had in mind.

If you found out that you had to have a couple of shots of steroids to mature your unborn baby's lungs on account of her being at least 3, if not 12, weeks early (Or possibly to win that championship title in the 80s. I don't know your life.), what would you expect of the whole deal?

Would you be like the naive, Scandinavian-rules-and-regulations-coddled me, and expect to show up at a doctor's office, have a qualified and appropriately dressed nurse (Also not wearing make up that in any way suggests a side job as a cabaret artist named Toots, which seems to be a popular night job for a multitude of Mexican nurses. At least based on the war paint.) perform some quick medical magic, and walk out of the place feeling a little sore in the buttock area, but without ever actually having to witness the actual needle or even the swab of disinfectant as anything else than a little prick on the skin and some unpleasant odor?

Or would you be thoroughly Mexican and receive a vague 'prescription' for some steroid solution while the doctor amiably chats away about his upcoming trip to Orlando's Disney World, show up at a drugstore, have a confused as well as confusing discussion with the guy behind the counter regarding how many ampuls it is you actually need, walk out with a feeling of discomfort and a mental note to email the doctor to make sure you're not doubling up on the 'roids by accident, get home and finally actually take a look at what's inside the packages you've just purchased, completely freak out (okay, so this is apparently where I stopped being the laid-back Mexican) by the length of the needle that you'd envisioned to be something more like the epinephrine-pen you were once, many years ago, shown how to use in case of a peanut/bee sting emergency at a children's summer camp (while you made a mental note to always be accompanied by someone who actually paid attention during the demonstration), or like the insulin-pen you once saw your high school friend use in the bathroom (There was no visible needle in either case, mind you!), to be followed by one mother of a breakdown, prior to regaining faith in the (at that moment absent) Viking and his nursing abilities, especially those involving giving other people shots, only to learn that he vehemently declines even touching the syringes, let alone giving anyone any shots of any kind? Unless they're of the Jaegermeister-persuasion in tiny glasses.

Would thoughts such as "Can you actually stick the needle straight into your hip bone? And if so, will the drug still get to the baby?" come to your mind?

What would you do?

Woman up, and stick yourself in the ass with the mother of all needles, hope that you don't hit anything that would kill, paralyze, or forever mentally traumatize you, or if you do end up doing just that, that at least the death is swift and painless or that your insurance covers years and years of therapy?

Or scroll through your list of local friends for doctors, nurses, vets, seriously sick folks who might be familiar with giving shots, and failing all else, intravenous drug users, and then make some calls?

Because that's what I'm doing.

Anyone medically qualified out there, within a 100-mile radius of Mexico City? I'll buy you Starbucks...

I bet there's someone in there who could give me my shots... Too bad this place's in Venice Beach, California.