Firstly I'd like to say how impressed I am with my male readers. What a bunch of gentlemen! Not one of you confessed to reading my gynaecological report - well one of you confessed to it but didn't understand it so I guess that's almost like you didn't read it.
Secondly, I lost a reader. Looks like my lack of verbal filter finally was just too much for someone. Que sera sera.
My medicine finally arrived. On Thursday - only two days after I'd ordered it. I was pretty excited. Actually I was very excited. So I ripped open the package and slathered on the right amount of cream (onto my forearm - I have had so many people ask where you put it and so many disbelieving looks that you just rub it on like moisturiser). And then I waited. What I was waiting for, I'm not sure but it was probably for some kind of side effect. Like an allergic reaction. Or a blinding headache. Or something else that would stop me from being able to use it. I'm obviously not my most optimistic self at the moment.
Luckily there was nothing. Day two came and again I treated myself and again nothing. Being a curious person I hit up Google again to see if there was any hint about how long it would take before I started to see results and the answer came back as two to three weeks.
It's going to be a long two to three weeks.
Saturday (day 3) came and with it the long run. My long runs haven't been that long of late and my plan was to do between 10 and 12k. It was around 23C and 80% humidity when we started but I was surprisingly optimistic about having a good run. After all I'd started treatment hadn't I? Well, the run was hideous. I did run the whole way (which I hadn't last week) but it was just hard (thankfully I wasn't the only one who'd found it hard) and I was bitterly disappointed. For crying out loud - I finally know what's wrong with me and I've started treatment. Is it too much to ask for an instant fix?? Of course I'd known that it would take 2-3 weeks but I still believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny (not so much the Tooth Fairy since that unfortunate tooth extraction incident back when I was young).
So the rest of Saturday was spent wearing my cranky pants. Didn't help that I had to spend four hours working.
And today I was just worn out. Exhausted. I managed to get out of bed, bake 30 cupcakes and shower myself before I headed back to bed. I'm not totally sure why I was so tired but I'm starting to think I was simply low on fuel after yesterday's run and not eating that well for the rest of the day (a pear for dinner seemed like a good idea at the time). I've actually been a bit hungrier than usual in the last 48 hours. So I'm thinking the testosterone is actually starting to work.
I'll know it's really working when I start to feel more energetic and my muscles don't feel so weak all the time. And I'll know I've gone too far if my voice deepens, I grow hair on my chest and lose the hair on my head. And I'm quite expecting to become totally unable to make the evening meal if I get distracted by the television. I'm sure to start leaving tissues in my pocket when I put my clothes in the wash. I'm definitely going to leave the toilet seat up and quite possible miss the toilet altogether. And I'll have no compunction about farting loudly in public and laughing about it - oh, I forgot, I already do that one.
Enough about me (as fascinating as I am). And on to the most gorgeous dog in the universe. My poor Toby was attacked the other day. Not just barked at by a chihuahua like last time - really attacked with blood and yelping. Iven had been out walking him when they walked past a small terrier - both dogs were on leashes. The terrier's owner let her dog closer to say hello but instead of sniffing Toby's butt it latched onto his nose. Poor Toby was distraught and in pain and Iven couldn't get the terrier off for ages. When he finally did, Toby slipped his collar and took off home (over a fairly busy road) to get some TLC from his Mum. His nose is healing well but I think he's going to have quite a rugged scar which will make him look less like a pretty, mumma's boy.
And talking about mumma's boys - this is how he reacted when I washed his teddy and penguin.