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2003-09-08 - 4:19 p.m.

Hell Is A Hormone!

Last week I wrote of my increasing insomnia and long hours of irritability and exhaustion during the day.

Two weeks ago, after six months of tossing and turning and an average of three hours sleep nightly, I caved and went in for a medical opinion. Although my doctor had, in less than 10 minutes, diagnosed my six-month-long dilemma, I held fast to my resolve to stay off previously scripted meds. My main physical complaint during that visit—other than not sleeping--was acute tension in my shoulders and neck, so he played along and put me on some muscle relaxers. I marched off thinking I’d won the battle and anxious for bedtime so I could finally sleep.

Didn’t happen. Back to the doctor today.

The diagnosis: I was a measly mortal in the face of hormones. Doc also said no matter how much I kicked and stomped and snorted and tried to lay blame elsewhere I had no one but myself to blame for my sleepless nights and ill-tempered days.

“And why the hell did you take yourself off your hormone replacement, ya old fool?” The doctor is a friend from high school and takes liberties in talking to me this way.

Thinking I was stronger than an insignificant, little hormone, I had tossed my prescription in the garbage last February and celebrated my independence from the little pill.

I told him my reasoning, all the negatives I’d read about Premarin and my desire to be estrogen-therapy free. As well as the medical alerts, the fact the drug is derived from horse urine was a definite negative in my mind. I’d been on the hormone replacement/horse pee since surgery several years ago, so I had to be cured, right?

In addition to the negative press blasting hormone replacements, I also told him how good I’d been feeling all these years. Well, except for the last half year. A sure sign I was cured, right?

“Did you ever consider that you were feeling good because you were taking the estrogen daily?”

He had me cornered.

Looking back, and with a little friendly persuasion from Doc John, I could see how all had gone out of kilter:

In early March I stopped getting restful sleep.

Over the past several months people forced to spend extended time with me made subtle mention of “hormone replacements” and maybe even “whiskers” once or twice.

All the legs on furniture in my office and in my home have been chewed particularly in two.

Chocolate is now my best friend.

The temperatures are no longer over 100, so the sweltering heat can no longer be blamed for the profuse sweating!

The dogs have been a bit uneasy around me the past few months.

The cat has moved to the neighbor’s.

All of this happening after the Premarin went in the trash.

Despite my headstrong, “I-know-what’s-best-for-me” nature, I finally had to give in today and go schlepping off to the pharmacy for my little vial of old lady drugs.

I have been defeated by a hormone!

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