Now that I am three weeks out from my surgery date, I have had to discontinue my HRT regimen. Of course, none of this came as a surprise (it's all over the information package you receive when you're first referred), and dreading it has been in the mix along with my excitement over the surgery itself.

I know I am not alone in this, but before surgery is complete, it feels like the mix of estradiol and progesterone is the only thing that prevents my body from continuing to betray me.

Over forty years was bad enough, thank-you.

And the hard part is that it's basically true: without these external hormones, the parts of my body that produce the unwanted hormone will be free to begin producing again. At least once the processes wake up again.

My main hope is that which has been dormant for almost two years now remains so until removed from the premises. Otherwise, I just have to accept that it will resume the betrayal.

At least it will until June 16th. So it at least has a deadline.

So here I am, just one day out (I've never missed a dose) and while I know it must me more driven by emotion than it is by biochemistry at this very moment, today was spent with lower-volume version of the din that I once spent my entire life hearing.

The risk of tears seems higher now.

Although I understand that everything we're instructed to do to prepare for surgery has a purpose (even if not unassailable) and I will absolutely follow these instructions to the letter so that I can mitigate all risks as much as is possible for a woman of a certain age, I can't help but feel like I'm being detransitioned in some way.

It's not true, but sure feels like it.

May 26, 2026