Waiting a Lifetime for a 10-Minute Call

When I made the decision to start HRT, I’d been researching it for years. I knew what people were saying about it 20 years ago, and I knew what they were saying about it nowadays.

Back then, you had to see a psychiatrist and live as your chosen gender socially for a full year before you could even start any kind of medical transition. It was all social—and that scared the hell out of me.

Nowadays, some people say it’s as simple as walking into a doctor’s office, telling them you want to start HRT, and they write you a prescription. Others say there are still some questions, maybe a little bit of a process—but overall, not too much.

So I figured, knowing my luck, I’d probably have a few hoops to jump through… but not a ton.

I called Planned Parenthood.

The one in my town wasn’t taking new patients, so I scheduled an appointment at one in a larger city about three hours away. The soonest they could get me in was two weeks out.

And I knew right away—two weeks was too long.

That was too much time to sit there and second-guess myself. Too much time to overthink everything.

But I tried to be patient.

As the date got closer, I started thinking about the cost—the appointment, the labs, the gas, and missing a full day of work. And then the guilt started creeping in.

So I canceled the appointment.

But I didn’t cancel it without a plan.

I started asking my friends in my online community, doing more research, and I found an online doctor service that was as simple as a 30-minute telehealth call. So I made the appointment through them and canceled my in-person appointment with Planned Parenthood.

I still had to wait about a week.

The morning of the appointment, I stayed home to make sure I had good cell service. I didn’t want anything messing this up.

I remember sitting there 10 minutes before the call, hitting the refresh button over and over so I wouldn’t miss it. The appointment was supposed to start at 9:00 a.m.

By 9:05… nothing.

No call.

And I could feel my heart sinking.

I remember thinking to myself, you screwed up—you should’ve just gone and done the in-person visit.

Right about the time I was ready to give up, the doctor’s picture popped up on the screen with an answer button.

So I answered.

She was super nice—easy to talk to. And I was fully prepared to spend 30 minutes answering questions, explaining myself, and hopefully, at the end of it, getting my prescription.

But that’s not how it went.

Within 5 or 10 minutes, she asked me how I wanted to take estrogen.

Just like that.

I had three options: pills, patches, or injections.

I remember thinking, this was easier than going to the DMV to renew my license—and way faster.

I chose pills. I work outside, so I knew patches would be a constant fight to keep on, and if I’m being honest, I’m scared of needles… so pills it was, at least for now.

We talked a little more. I asked a few basic questions, but nothing major. After all, I’d been researching HRT for about 30 years.

She asked me what pharmacy I wanted to use.

I gave her the information.

And just like that… it was done.

I picked that pharmacy on purpose—easy to get to and on a side of town my wife is on all the time.

But that afternoon, when my wife went to pick up my prescription, the pharmacist told her they had to special order it.

It would be at least another day.

And I know… it’s just one more day.

But when you’ve waited 20-something years, another 24 hours feels like years.

The next day, my wife went back.

The pharmacist pulled her to the side and asked if she knew what the prescription was for.

My wife didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve known forever.”

The pharmacist just nodded and said, “Okay… I just needed to make sure you were on the same page.”

The doctor had prescribed it as a pill twice a day and told me to let it dissolve under my tongue.

Apparently, the pharmacist had never seen it prescribed that way before, so she asked my wife a bunch of questions trying to understand why.

I never even asked the doctor.

I just assumed it was easier on my liver—less work for my body to process.

At that point, I wasn’t questioning anything.

I’d waited too long to start.