A Fly in the Ointment and Male Performance Anxiety

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My estradiol level is 791. High normal range is 600. Crap.

How do I know my estradiol level? No, it's not because the lab timely reported the result to my Clinic, even though the test was ordered "stat" and should have been back in 4 hours. It's because I had to call the phlebotomy lab, then call the hospital lab, then talk with a supervisor and demand a call back when the result was done. You see, the machine had apparently broken down, it had been down all day, someone was working on it and hopefully they'd have the test done by Saturday.

WTF?

I told them this was unacceptable, that a medication dosage was dependent upon this result and I needed the result ASAP. Well, somehow during this conversation, I got the distinct impression that the supervisor thought I was an employee of the doctor's office calling. I did say that I was the patient when I first called, but if they got confused, well, I wasn't going to correct them, especially if it would get my result done faster.

So Ms. Chatty Lab Supervisor pulled my blood sample, put it to the front of the line, and when the stupid machine was finally working again (the problem had to do with calibration of a new control lot), my test was run and I received a call with the result at 5:30 pm.

So my estradiol is too high and we had to reel in the dosage a bit. And then I have to have another blood draw on Monday. But, sh^t, you know, to get anything done you have to take the bull by the horns....and then shake the hell out of it.

Hopefully we're still on track to do the transfer Thursday...but we won't know until Monday.

Meanwhile, my husband has developed male performance anxiety. The problem with this kind of anxiety is that you (me) can't even say, "WTF...get a grip and just pull it together?" because that only makes matters worse. Now the kind of male performance anxiety I'm talking about has to do with my Delestrogen IM injections.

The first shot went fine. The second time, he panicked, and his hand shook, and he bounced the needle off my skin (did you know a needle could bounce?). But he finally did it. Last night, with the new lower dosage, his needle-bearing hand shook like he had the DT's. He stopped because, you know, it's hard to hit a target with a sharp object when your hand is wobbling all over the freaking place. Then he just did it....and holy crap....it hurt! But like I said, you can't scold or question because it will only make it worse for next time. For the rest of the night I limped around the house like I had a charl.ie horse in my ass.

He just said, "Well, I guess I'll never be a neurosurgeon." "No," I said, "I guess you won't."
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