"Start testosterone!"- That's a diary entry I never thought I'd see. It's not quite as exciting as writing "flight to LA"- "Pick up Pedro" or "Post Malone concert VIP!" but it still held a certain level of excitement for me. Merged with mild terror. After my hiccup with my oestrogen patches and getting overly giddy with the vitamin D, I was sure as hell going to start administering the next phase of my hormone therapy with absolute precision and perfection! Plus, out of all three things I'm on, this is the one that scares me the most. What's going to happen to me?! How will my body respond? How will my brain and thoughts behave? And please God will it help with my energy levels and brain fog as reported? Right now, if I didn't set my alarm, I probably wouldn't wake up till Thursday. I also want to eat constantly and sometimes this involves eating jam with a spoon straight from the jar. I'm clearly not wired up right, and the rational part of my brain that says "don't do that Sophie, you're pre-diabetic, so spoon feeding yourself jam is not a good idea!"- Isn't being listened to by my frontal lobe. I know all us girls have our cravings at certain times of the month, but when you don't have a cycle and haven't done for years, you've got nothing to pinpoint it to.
The same with my emotions. Are these tears hormonal tears, low-blood sugar tears, tired tears or grief tears? I'm relieved to say I made it through my first Mother's Day without mum. I considered logging out of everything for the weekend and pretending Mother's Day wasn't happening, but then it hit me: I still have a Mum, just in spirit! And she was the most magnificent mum ever. She deserves to be celebrated and remembered! So, I decided to dedicate everything about the day to her and the things she loved. I played her favourite songs, made her favourite foods, served on her favourite pretty crockery, bought a bunch of her favourite flowers and got her favourite latte. I also decided I wanted to fill everyone's social media feeds with her BEAUTIFUL face, so I did a nice post for her featuring a picture I took of us together last Mother's Day. It was still a tough day, and I don't know whether I would have got through it worse or better had I had already been on the testosterone.
I'd set the date in my diary: Easter Monday! I didn't have any plans that day, so if anything weird happened and I suddenly turned into a raging bull, at least I'd be safely confined to Sophie-land and not having to deal with anyone else’s emotions other than my own. But then life threw me a pretty cool curveball and at 9:00 PM the night before... I suddenly found myself stepping in as a grid girl for the British GT, last minute! How flippin cool? There was no time to waste as I dug out my grid bag and heels from the bottom of my wardrobe, where it had remained unopened since breaking my femur and eventually making it home from hospital. Almost exactly 6 months ago! Can I manage heels? Even just for 20 minutes to walk out onto the grid for one of the races? I'd better practice in my apartment! So, with my baggy joggers on and a face mask, I pulled out my trusty grid girl boots to have a go. But what did I find shoved in one of them?
No, not to the posh thong I persuaded the nurses NOT to cut me out of, (although annoyingly I still can't find that, despite my efforts) but a six month old tangerine I obviously planned on eating on the way home from Brands! Bizarrely, it was seemingly fine! Just a little more wrinkly than normal. No I didn't eat it, but it made me wonder what the hell they spray fruit with and if heeled boots really are the future of fruit preservation. Heels practise successfully completed, and my alarm was set for 5:00 AM and 'full glam' for the first time in months!
Although the weather was appalling, nothing could rain on my parade! I was so grateful to be back at a race track in a working capacity and it would act as the perfect warm up for the rest of the season. I also didn't have too much time to stress about things as it was such a delightful impromptu opportunity! Even if my hair extensions weren't ready. Thank you Richard the marvellous Marshall who acted as my personal chaperone escorting me on and off the grid, and down that famous dip known as 'Deer leap'.
Because of all this excitement, I decided to start my testosterone the following day. Sensible Sophie! But do you know what? I hardly felt a difference. As I squeezed a pea-sized blob out of the tube and dabbed it on my thigh after slathering on the usual daily dose of Nivea, I felt... fine! No different, no growing a beard, no aggressive sudden personality change, no better and no worse. No dramas! Hurrah! OK, so that was only day one and the three that followed I was fighting to keep my eyes open, experiencing probably the worst fatigue yet. But I pushed through it! Now I'm back to simply the regular 'sleepy' instead of the "Am I dying, just very slowly?" sleepy. I'll let you know how I get on when I have to up the dose. Possibly to a grape-sized blob next time- who knows!? But like other things in life, that depends how big your grapes are (or is that lemons?? I digress.)
As fate would have it, on the exact date of my six month Femur-versary, where was I booked in at? The fracture clinic at Whythenshawe Hospital of course! It was follow-up X-ray day and nothing says Happy Anniversary like a good dose of radiation! Because your femur is your largest bone, it's a pretty big area to get in shot and today, they wanted all the angles! I was beginning to think the X-ray guy was enjoying positioning me in all these weird shapes, that resembled a fallen dead body on the ground, freshly drawn around by forensics. Either that or we were secretly tasked with re-enacting the music video for the band Radiohead, and their song 'Just'. You know the one; where the guy is lay on the pavement on everyone's tripping over him. I started giggling every time he moved one of my limbs! When we'd eventually shot the full look-book of 'fallen from the sky' poses, he held out his hand to help me off the table. I didn't need it but I took it anyway, and leaped up like a magician's assistant after she'd been cut in half, then was miraculously in one piece again. This is somewhat true for me if you saw the state of my femur six months ago.
A short while passed back in the waiting area and I was relieved to find the specialist who called me in was a different one to last time. This man seemed a lot more chipper and smiley! In hindsight I think I was his last patient of the day and he was happy to be leaving. But! My X-rays were looking great! New bone forming, covering over the crack with fresh lumpiness. Sure, it didn't look pretty but it was looking like healing! They keep telling me it's going to take at least a year for full recovery, so let's think of it as I'm halfway through. That feels less daunting. But something I still find incredibly daunting and worries me constantly is the fact I still can't bend my leg. No one is willing to say whether or not I'll ever get full range of motion back. I long for the day when I can get my heel to my bum and enjoy a quad stretch! Or clean my floors properly, or reach for the last packet of gluten free pasta at the back of the low down shelf in Sainsbury's. Maybe this is life's way of saying I need to be more top shelf? Or once again, a gentle reminder to ask for help when I need it.
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