Updated: Aug 17, 2020
I awaken, after a nice dream of my mom, to the cold dimness of another early morning without her. Being in the living room is a bit disorienting, and as reality closes in around me I feel an overwhelming physical anxiety. It’s like every cell in my body is terrified. It’s been happening in the mornings more and more often for several years, and lately has been taking hours to fade away.
I go to the kitchen to get some water. My stomach growls, but the idea of eating food gives me nausea. I deliberate for a minute and decide it would be better to at least get one egg down. We have a few strips of bacon left in an open package, so I throw those on the skillet too.
Dad comes out and gives me a monotone “good morning”, and then he smiles when he sees the bacon. “Save some bacon for me?” he asks, as he starts up the coffee machine.
“It’s all for you if you want, I don’t feel much like eating so I’m just having an egg.”
“Is something wrong?”
I’m not sure how to explain it to him. “I don’t know.”
“If there’s something you need, please ask.”
I think a moment. “I want to try HRT.”