Solstice

Leuprolide Acetate. Its commercial name is "Lupron".  From the Latin lupinus. Of the wolf. Rapacious. Ravenous. I inject myself twice each day. Morning and night. The name is fitting since the liquid bites. I hold ice to my stomach for nearly an hour afterwards and the burning never quite leaves. It is also fitting because hunger drives me to do this: a gnawing pain that has not left for years and which roars into life when I see in my periphery any reminder of what I once hoped for.

Tonight I see a full moon from my bedroom window. The lemon tree in Corinne's yard is heavy with fruit.

It was winter solstice when my cycle began. A propitious beginning. Ahead of schedule. I thought I had another week. I did not. So we sprang into action again. This time, I'm thousands of miles away from the clinic, so we made other arrangements. Yesterday I drove to Winter Park and paid up-front for the blood-work and tests. The tenderness from the last surgery hasn't yet left, and the shots will make me swell like a balloon but I'm ready for this. Ready to urge my body to produce its own fruit. I only know how deeply this affects me when I'm on the phone with my doctor's office, begging her to authorize my insurance company to pay a small fraction of the cost I've already put down. I've taken on debt, cashed out my retirement account for this small hope.

Saw the launch and careful descent of the Space X rocket with Corinne and the Doodlers. Such heat and energy! Excited about physics in a way I'd nearly forgotten. I want to ride one of those.