Shot To The Belly

Got the final shot to the belly this morning.

9:15. Kind of early, don't you think? I do.

That's where they administer the hormone shot. The belly. I am surprised my fat body doesn't pop like a balloon when they jab me.

"Shit - call maintenance - he fucking exploded. Wash down the walls, mop the floors, wipe down the furniture. We got another appointment in 2 hours. You got a piece of his liver over your eyebrow."

They alternate from side to side every time. "We gave you the shot on the right side of your belly 3 months ago, so today we'll jab the left side."

Does it really make a difference? Hard to believe. But the medical community is invincible. So I roll with it.

Here's the deal. I keep learning things at the last minute. Dr. Feelgood said they will check me again in 3 months, which makes sense because these are three month shots. In other words I should get the same readings in January as I got today.

Then the real reckoning begins. I keep going back every three months for possibly up to a year, as the testosterone gets back to normal and the PSA gets back to "normal."

I was not aware of the "up to a year" part. Dr. Feelgood told me it could take 9 to 12 months for everything to get back to "normal." And on and on I go.

Obviously the ideal is for the PSA count to stay low. That would be wonderful. He did tell me that as this shit wears off I should start to "feel better" - especially in the energy department. He said fatigue should lessen.

Honestly, I feel like I have been tired all of my life. But maybe I have ben especially tired over the last two years and just accepted it as the norm. I have no frame of reference because my reality is second to second. My memory is spotty at best. In fact you can't even call it memory. Impressions maybe?

So I have another year to sweat this out. He did say the morbid obesity can be dealt with as the shit wears off. So perhaps I can once again become svelte. Resume my modeling career. 

Who the fuck knows. I am hopeful (95% five year survival rate is projected) but, again, who the fuck knows.

At least I won't be lifting my shirt up and exposing my bloated belly to any more humans from now on.

Unless I get drunk at Craig & Amanda's wedding.