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Boost Your T

Bonnie E. Carlson

    I had a brief trial of testosterone when I was sixty-six. Having retired a year earlier, I finally had time to seriously work out. Got myself a trainer, went to the gym three times a week, and worked my brains out. Practically killed me. But after a year I still wasn’t satisfied with the results. I aimed for beautifully toned arms so that I could wear sleeveless shirts and dresses in my hot climate. But dreaded flab still hung from my arms. My legs looked stronger, but they were already pretty toned from all the walking and hiking I did.
    I said to my trainer, “Hey, what gives?”
    “At your age, maybe you should have your testosterone checked out. I’d start with your primary care physician.”
    Hmm. So I made an appointment with Dr. Sherman, providing no explanation for why I wondered about my testosterone levels.
    “Is your sex drive flagging?” she asked.
    I laughed. “What sex drive? No man in my life.”
    “Does your well-being need a boost?”
    Still laughing, I replied, “No, I’m feeling great about my life. Other than my workouts.” I had always admired her very slim, extremely toned body. She was a serious runner, but she must also work out hard. I knew I could never be that skinny, especially after menopause—I liked dessert too much. But I lusted after those toned arms.
    I explained my motivation for getting my testosterone checked, and she wrote an order for a blood test.
    A week later I went in for the results. Not good. My testosterone and estrogen levels were almost nonexistent. The estrogen didn’t surprise me, but I had no idea what to expect on the T.
    “Well, I think we really need to boost your T. I’ll write you a prescription, but Medicare won’t pay for it, because it’s not considered medically necessary.”
    “Do you think it’ll help?”
    “Maybe. Worth a try but no guarantees.”
    “Is it a pill?”
    “No actually it’s a cream,” she replied. “And you have to get it from a compounding pharmacy.”
    Never heard of it.
    “One thing to be aware of though,” said Dr. Sherman, “is that it can raise your libido.”
    Wouldn’t be a problem.
    So, I found the pharmacy and dropped off my prescription. It took a week to get ready, long enough for my expectations to develop. I picked it up, asking the grizzled old pharmacist about the instructions for using it. Why did I feel so embarrassed?
    Not even looking at me he said, “Inside the packaging.”

***


    I drove home, eager to get started. The flimsy instructions weren’t helpful in the least, maybe because this was considered an “off label” use. They said how much to use, in grams. That’s all. Not how many times a day or where to apply it. So I resorted to the internet, where I didn’t find much clarity either. Nothing about dosage. Different sites said to apply it in various bodily locations, including the vagina area—or always the same one—to avoid skin irritation.
    I started with a quarter teaspoon once a day on the inside of my arm.
    I kept that up for a while, then I moved the location to the inside of my thigh. A week later I moved to my other arm. And then, in a bold move, I applied it to my vaginal area for a week.
    And then a funny thing started to happen. After having almost no sex drive for a number of years—which was fine since I wasn’t involved with anyone either—I started to feel horny. Really horny. Dr. Sherman was right. So for the first time in forever, I started to regularly masturbate, which I found surprisingly satisfying. And started thinking maybe I should start looking for some romantic companionship.
    The following week I was scheduled for a massage. I adored my massage therapist, a buff, handsome, thirtysomething guy who was sexy beyond belief—and I was scared to go. Afraid that the minute he laid his hands on me I’d have an orgasm and totally mortify both of us.
    And then I ran out of the cream. Darn! The label said I had one refill, so I called the compounding pharmacy.
    “You aren’t eligible to have this refilled for another month and a half,” said the pharmacy tech.
    Really? “How long was this supposed to last?” I inquired.
    “At least another month.”
    Uh oh.
    “You should contact your prescribing physician.”
    Ya think?

***


    I told Dr. Sherman what happened, that I ran out after a month.
     “Are your workouts any better?” she asked, consulting her notes from my original visit.
     “Not that I’ve noticed.”
     “Let me see those arms,” she demanded.
     Holding up one arm, I observed, “Still flabby.”
     “Wait,” she said. “How long have you been using the cream?”
     “About a month.”
     “But it was supposed to last for three months. How much have you been using?”
     “About a quarter teaspoon.” Then I told her about the lack of instruction about dosage, the business about grams, and my resorting to the internet.
     “You’ve gone through the whole prescription in a month?” she asked, incredulous. By then she was howling.
     “Yeah,” I said, chortling myself.
     “How’d that go?”
     I told her about the canceled massage appointment. She cracked up.
     “Okay, I’m ordering you another prescription, but you need to cut way back.”
    I handed her the empty container of cream. She read the label. A puzzled look came over her face and she opened my chart.
    “Oh dear,” she said. “There’s been a mistake.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “My nurse must have misunderstood my instructions. You got the wrong prescription. This was estrogen not testosterone.”
    How did I not notice that?
    “I need to write you a new one.”

***


    For the next six months, I used the reduced amount of testosterone she recommended, curious to see what would happen. Horny no more, back to my massages.
    Never did get those toned arms, though.



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