Since I haven’t been sleeping for about fifteen years, my doctor recently put me on hormone replacement therapy.  The idea was that this would 1) help me sleep 2) make me feel better and 3) give me more energy for all kinds of things, some of which will remain nameless.  I’ve been on the little patch and the round pink pill now for about three weeks.  I’ll admit that I have been sleeping somewhat better, when I’m not up at 3 a.m. worrying about a serial killer loose in South Carolina or North Korea bombing us all to smithereens.  But I’m not sure it’s worth it because my temper has returned.  It’s taken up residence in me again, like a long-lost but unwelcome friend.  I haven’t had this kind of whirlwind, blow-the-roof-off-the-house temper since my glory days of PMS, and I’m on the smallest possible dose of hormones-and the most natural variety, the kind that doesn’t cause horrible things to happen to you later. I hate to think how I might be acting if I were taking the urine-from-pregnant-horses kind.  Not to mention in a larger dose!

Yesterday was the icing on the cake.  Since my oldest daughter and first-born child is turning 22 this weekend,  I decided to take her shopping, to pick out what she wants for her birthday.  It was going to be a lovely, happy mother-daughter outing, just like in the movies.  Grown mother.  Grown daughter.  Out having fun together.  What I didn’t realize before we left the house was that I had forgotten to remove the hormone patch that I was supposed to remove before I replaced it with a new patch yesterday morning.  So I essentially had two doses of estrogen going through my skin into my abdomen.  Sure, the old one was probably somewhat weakened, since it was, after all, time to replace it.  But it was definitely not dead.  Next thing you know, I’m yelling at my daughter–in the store check-out line, mind you–about her specific choice of present and about her whole approach to birthday presents in general.  Then I’m storming out of T.J. Maxx, in front of a line of people waiting to check out.  Next thing you know, I’m in the car, with my daughter asking me to calm down, and I’m calling her names.  I’m railing and ranting against “young people today” who have no appreciation for material things, so they simply replace something perfectly good with something newer whenever they get tired of it.  I’m making my daughter wish she had never even suggested we do something like this together–and wish she didn’t have a birthday coming up at all. On top of everything else,  I’ve left my 13-year-old daughter, who made the mistake of wanting to share in this fun outing, in the store, wondering where I am.

There was probably some tiny bit of validity in what I said to my daughter.  Sure, she spends too much.  She’s 22, for goodness sake, and she has her first real full-time job.  Also, she probably really doesn’t need another purse, especially not an expensive one where the brand name jacks up the price.  Certainly she needs to learn how to budget her money. I’m sure I had a point, somewhere in there!  But, for crying out loud, it’s her birthday this week, and I love her, and I’m so proud of her in so many ways.  So why did I have to do what I did?

This whole experience made me wonder:  how many women who go out of their heads and commit violent or abusive acts are on some kind of hormone replacement therapy?

I’d at least like to blame it on the hormones.  I don’t really feel I have any other reasonable choice.

In the end, hormone replacement therapy may turn out to be great for me.  It may make me want to put on a black negligee.  Who’s to say?  Whatever happens, it had better be worth it.  It would sure be nice if I could call my doctor and discuss my reaction to this stuff.  She’s certainly never called me to find out.  That’s not how American medicine works.  But don’t get me started on a different subject for ranting.  I’m still feeling some effect from that second patch!

In any case, I’d like to know what other people have experienced with HRT. If anyone out there reading this blog has any helpful suggestions, comments, experiences to share, I, for one, would appreciate hearing them.  (I suspect my daughter would, too!)  Jane