Better Than Nothing

I used to be intimidated by vegetarians, but I got over it. Part of it is the healthier-than-thou attitude most militant in the ones who buy special grinders for wheat grass and pay so much attention to live food and ingredients that it becomes an eating disorder. My short attention span has not only kept me from becoming addicted to anything but makes it impossible for me to keep up with all it takes to prepare and follow a strict dietary regime. I'm bipolar when it comes to food as evidenced by my having a juicer and a microwave, not eating white bread or rice but knowing the fast food places, having a water filter but also drinking carbonated battery acid with caffeine and aspertame which is about what Diet Coke is, shopping at Wild Oats and Kroger, taking vitamins and supplements but not eating as many fresh fruits and vegetables as I need to, and the list goes on. My theory is that any effort is better than nothing. Moderation in all things, including moderation. I should do so well as to be moderate when it comes to exercise!

Testosterone Causes Brain Damage

Despite all the controversy about hormone replacement therapy, I'm not ready to quit taking it. It was such an ordeal to find the right one that worked for me that I became conversant on side-effects of them all. I was allergic to the adhesive on the patch. I tried that two different times and had welts all over me. Unattractive and itchy. Several different estrogen pills were like eating M&M's without the great chocolate taste. Waste of time and money. My body rejected the hormone implants both times they were attempted although the brief time they spent in my body helped. It takes a couple of months to know if something is going to work or not. During this time emotions are all over the place and make PMS look like being well-adjusted. Tears or rage - highly sensitive or in a tower with a hit list! Over two years of not feeling like my usual easy-going self wore me out and alienated others. At least they could get away from me! I was stuck with being around me all the time. It was really bad!

Eventually I went to see my trusty family physician Clyde Collins for some other matter and was in hysterical mode that day. With glazed eyes and spinning head, I asked him why there weren't tests to see what kind of hormones we needed. I raved on and on for a while ranting about the litany of problems this was for me. He listened to me and told me because no one had any idea I'd react to them that way until I took them. Dr. Collins then mentioned that since the implants helped that perhaps I needed to take Estratest since it has some testosterone in it and the others were only estrogen. Could it be that I might have some help here? He asked me if my gynecologist had gone through menopause. I told him no and asked if he had. I think he did a few years later since he was driving a red sporty convertible.

My gynecologist was in Nashville and primarily interested in surgery, I think. She was really good at that part of it and especially liked doing the implants (more like surgery). I'm not really blaming her but have found out later that it's become standard practice to prescribe something with testosterone when estrogen alone doesn't help.

Anyway, I tried yet another prescription with hope and trepidation for what it might do. A month later I went back to see Dr. Collins to let him know how I felt. He asked a few questions, and then I told him I really liked these and that I felt great. I was more like myself, happier, sense of humor had returned, no crying or hysterical jags, and more energy. Things were getting back to abnormal for me again. He was glad to hear it and happy with the success of it all until I mentioned that he forgot to tell me about the side-effects. With a look of concern, he had his pen poised to write and was getting prepared to handle this new emergency.

I told him that I'd decided that just a little testosterone was all anyone really needed and that I'd find myself driving around for hours lost but wouldn't ask for directions. (the pen went back in his pocket) I also switched channels with the remote control during the middle of programs even when I liked them and then kept flipping. I'd leave socks on the floor wherever I took them off, put wet towels on wood furniture and the bed, and tell people I'd call and not do it. But worst of all, I'd started thinking The Three Stooges were funny.

By then Clyde was leaned back grinning and said, "That's not funny!" I told him all women and secure men thought it was when I told it. Then he threatened not to tell me which way to shave when my beard grew in.