I drove three hours, met my sister and her husband for lunch, went shopping for dresses (purchasing two both of which are age inappropriate but today was a big day), and was still more than a half hour early for my appointment at Planned Parenthood. No protesters gathered outside the door, but I think it would have been easier to enter Fort Knox than get admitted through the doors of Planned Parenthood. But I made it. Then, I spent the next ten minutes talking to a woman I couldn't understand because of the inch thick sheet of bullet proof glass between us. Fortunately, she was a very patient woman. A young woman and someone of indeterminate gender ushered me into a treatment room and were soon joined by Rachel (an NP). This moment occurred more than a week ago and marks the beginning of my HRT. Or, perhaps, it doesn't. The reason I've delayed this announcement is because Rachel could not make an on-the-spot decision and needs to consult with the Medical Director (when I was young it never occurred to me that I would get old and, somewhere along the way, acquired Type II diabetes and COPD). But Rachel is hopeful and I expect a message any day asking me where she should send a prescription for transdermal Estradiol. I have never been to a medical appointment where I felt more at home and at peace and was called 'Annika' out loud for the first time. If seeing 'the doctor' can be spiritual, my appointment qualified. However, I am on tenterhooks and assured Rachel that if the medical director declined to authorize the prescription, I would go rogue (I've seen a month's supply of estrogen advertised online for about $10). So, you might be asking yourself, what is the point of this topic? I'm asking myself the same question. This isn't a blog, I just needed somewhere to dump a few pounds of anxiety.
