Better write this, before I forget...

It's been something of a medical week, this week; I had an appointment with my Doctor on Monday morning, and a regular appointment with a psychiatrist at the Gender Identity Clinic on Tuesday. For Monday, there were five specific topics I needed to discuss with him, but of course, I only remembered four of them. The one that I forgot? The state of my memory... can you spot a trend here? :-( Anyway, acknowledging such good news as there is, my body (particularly my liver) appears to be coping with the full dose of hormones which I'm taking, so no problems are anticipated there. In an effort to try and obtain some sleep (even if artificial) I've been prescribed sedatives to be taken "occasionally"; so the plan is to take them on Monday and Wednesday evenings, so that hopefully I'll get sufficient sleep on those nights to be safe to drive to the office, have a full day there, and drive home again, on Tuesdays and Thursdays at least. We'll see how that goes... as for the Gender Identity Clinic, the primary purpose behind those (nominally) three-monthly appointments is to monitor my progress on the two-year "Real Life Test", successful completion of which is a precondition of approval for Gender Reassignment Surgery. As far as that is concerned, their reading of the situation harmonises with my own, i.e. the most important element for me to focus on remains my voice, the rest is proceeding fine. But the fact that my memory and concentration problems have persisted now worries them, too...

So I'm being referred to a neuro specialist as a precaution. Although there is no history of early-onset Alzheimer's in my family, "let's rule it out to be sure". Oh, now, isn't *that* a cheery thought... I'm conscious that I've probably mentioned my memory issues as much as anything else in this blog. If I'd always been a forgetful, dippy bimbo then I wouldn't worry about it; but until very recently, that wasn't the case at all. The contrast is so marked, and came on so suddenly, that it's hard *not* to be frustrated by it. And, in truth, worried about it. To be blunt, scared witless by it. I am most conscious of it at work, and I am sorry to say that I can't have been much fun to be around while dealing (badly) with this. I've tried to apologise in person to those of my colleagues who've borne the brunt of my frustration; but (with the exception of my immediate boss) I don't think they really understand. Which is no criticism of them.

I tried to think of an upbeat way to finish this post; in truth, I can't find one. All I feel is the realisation that my continual progress towards the ability to live my life as I need to is coupled with a simultaneous reduction in my intellectual capacity to appreciate it. How nice.

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