A Dilemma
Some how I sleep. Then in arising early, I reach for my pills. Gone.
Madam!
She went through my pockets, ostensibly to obtain new credit card information. For some reason the pills were not returned.
It is too early to make phone calls. I must wait in apprehension. Did Madam intentionally withhold the hormones? Getting them back on a timely basis means returning to her. For some reason the thought is bothersome.
There is traumatic catharsis in visiting the staid Victorian homestead... particularly now that I am aware of the details... a naked, marked and caged castrate in the basement.
By 9:00 a.m. I decide to call the doctor’s office.
“It’s Mr. Grieves. I’ve lost the pills the doctor prescribed for me and will need a replacement.”
The nurse receptionist puts me on hold, returning after several minutes.
“Oh, Mr. Grieves. That compound is now on the controlled substances list. A potential performance enhancing drug... you’ve probably read about the controversy. Legally the doctor cannot give you a refill until the original prescription expires in two weeks. The regulations obstruct possible blackmarket sale.”
“But I don’t have any to take or to sell. They’re lost.”
“Well, I will talk to the doctor and see what we can do. Lots of paperwork to explain what would appear like an over prescription. We must avoid fines and possible sanctions...”
“Please see what you can do.”
She’s young... either unaware of the dire need for hormones or aloof to my plight. I am not comfortable putting my fate in her hands. Then that unprofessional snicker comes to mind when the doctor described the slow transformation in absence of hormone treatment.
Will she go out on a limb for me and re prescribe?
I panic, envisioning myself visiting her office in two weeks for the permitted refill prescription... shrunken penis, puffy nipples, experiencing the mood swings of a pubescent girl.
By midmorning there is no call from the doctor’s office. I am jittery. Too much coffee? Too much concern? I begin to doubt my own judgement. How quickly does a diminished level of hormones affect the capacity to reason?
Finally the phone rings. It is the nurse receptionist.
“The doctor is preparing to leave for a conference. She’s taking the paperwork with her and will fax it here when completed. Then you can come in for a new prescription.”
“How long?”
“Well a couple days, Mr. Grieves. She’s traveling to the west coast, expected to speak at the conference and the required government forms are considerable. A very busy time.”
Too long. I can already feel changes. Psychosomatic?
“Please let me know as soon as possible.”
I hang up, my hand shaking. I cannot wait. Gaping at my discolored scrotum is distressing enough. Now I must live in wonder as to whether my penis is shrinking!
I conclude I have no choice but to phone Madam. Could it be she’s expecting my call?
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