According to my recent test results, I have low progesterone…which basically means my hormones are so screwed up, there ain’t a lot of ovulation goin’ on up in there. 

“Does this mean I’m going into premature menopause,” I asked my new doctor, and then proceeded to throw up on her toy poodle. 

“No, no, no,” she replied.  “You’ll hit menopause when you hit menopause…this is just a hormonal imbalance…it’s all tied to your other issues…your thyroid, etc.”

I tucked my head between my legs, placed a paper bag over my mouth and breathed in and out…in and out.  “That’s good to know,” I finally gasped.  “I wasn’t quite ready for that.”  I grabbed some paper towels from the metal bin and attempted to wipe my stomach contents off the very confused pup cowering in the corner.

My new doctor (I’ll call her Doc She-Ra from this point forward…I expect great things) prescribed a natural Progesterone supplement and told me to take it days 14-28 of my “cycle”.  (I would apologize right now to my two or three male readers…but that would be premature…the real cringe-worthy content is still forthcoming.)

Doc She-Ra called in my prescriptions to the nearest “compound pharmacy”…a stand-alone building on Kirby, near the Rice Village area (a handy location for those prone to last-minute shopping excursions).  I arrived for pick-up mid-afternoon, gave the young lady behind the glass partition my name and lounged in a plush leather chair awaiting my new cocktail of drugs.  Look at these magazines!  Elle and People and Rolling Stone!  Not your standard waiting room periodicals.  I mean, there wasn’t a Highlights  or Diabetes Weekly  in sight.  This is my kind of dealer.  I scanned the room’s decor.  Very nice.  Nice, quality leather furniture…attractive, yet soothing paint color, nice framed…wait, what are those?  Prints of models?  Three professional pictures of a man, woman and child.  Black and white.  Tastefully done.  Must be an example of the “ultimate” customer…or possibly the perfection you turn into after purchasing this particular pharmacy’s goods.

“Miss Wynn?”  It was a male’s voice.  “We’ve got your prescriptions ready.  I’ll need to walk you through them.”

I looked from the portrait of models to…hold on…I’m confused…what is the model doing in this building…and why is he wearing a lab coat? 

“Miss Wynn?”  I need to speak soon or this is going to get awkward, but I’m a bit tongue-tied by the Adonis in white.

“Um…ha…sorry, yes,” I stutter as I walk to the window.  My massive purse falls to the bend in my arm, causing my whole body to jerk to the right.  I let out another nervous giggle.  What is going on?  Jesus…slap some metal braces on my teeth and plop me back into the halls of Kleb Intermediate…apparently I’m the “terrified yet intrigued by boys” thirteen-year-old again.  Pull it together!

I somehow survive the walk to the window and Pharmacist a la Perfecion begins to explain my new set of prescriptions.  I hear something about taking the thyroid medication on an empty stomach, first thing in the morning (got it…no different from the past) and then something about a cream.  A cream?  Why am I getting a cream?

As many would (or so I say to make myself feel better), I assumed the magic Progesterone supplement would come in pill form…but that assumption would prove to be incorrect.  As would the assumption that all pharmacists look like Gene Wilder in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

Perfecion is still talking.  Oh, God, I’m missing crucial information.  Two clicks?  What?

“Can you repeat that last part, please,” I ask.

He smiles.  HE SMILES!  I blush and look down at my shirt.  Damn!  Why did I wear this ole thing…the color is awful on me!

Sidenote:  For those of you who know me well, you know I’m not easily rattled (or at least I can hide it well).  But we’re not talking “hot guy in the office” or “cutie at the grocery store” here…I’m talking a cross between Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise.  I know it’s a weird combination and I know Tom is a little loopy…but those boys are HOT - and so is this one!

I need to focus.  FOCUS, NIKKI!  Your health is on the line here!

“…turn it two clicks..right down here, see?”

“Uh huh.”

“…once in the morning and once in the evening.  And, that’s it!  You’re set!”

But I don’t want to leave, Mommy.

“Right…ok,” I say as I inspect the cream dispenser.  And one thought keeps racing through my teenage brain…”where the hell do I apply this cream?”  My second thought:  “This is about female hormones…oh, God…what if if goes in my ‘hoo ha’…or on my nipples.  CAN’T THINK OF EROGENOUS ZONES WHILE IN PRESENCE OF PERFECION!!”  I do a quick visual inspection of the bottle…just dosage information…nothing about where to apply!  I can NOT ask this man…this specimen…if I put this cream up my “hoochie”!

“Okay…alright…so, don’t apply this until an hour or so after taking the thyroid meds?” I ask.

“That’s right,” he replies.  That mouth…mmmmm.  Focus!  “Just two clicks of the base here, rub it in, and you’re done.  It’s that easy.”

EASY?  EASY!!!!  RUB IT IN WHERE????  IN MY HOO HA…ON MY LEFT NIPPLE…UP THE BACK CRACK????  WHERE THE HELL DOES IT GO???

“Alrighty, then (did I just say that).  Sounds simple enough.  Thanks, again!”

“You bet!  Thanks for the business!”  And he winks.  Let me repeat that.  He winks.  Sigh.

Three hours later.  Parent’s house.  Back TV room with Mom.

“What do I do, Mom!  Does it go up my place?”

“It’s called a VAGINA, Nikki!  My, God!  You can’t even say it, can you?  Where did I go wrong!”

“No, I can’t say it…and I won’t!  And you didn’t answer me!  Where does this stuff go?”

“I don’t know!  But it does say ‘for external use only’…so I guess it doesn’t go up your ‘HOO HA’!”

“Then where?  My nipple?”

“Oh, Nikki!”

It’s late night and I’m surfing the net.  Key words:  “Where do you apply Progesterone cream?”

Answer: Not in ‘hoochie’ or up ‘butt crack’.  It appears the cream soaks in best in areas that blush:  chest, neck, face…and also the inside of arm.  Well, I wasn’t so far off…something tells me I was blushin’ in other areas when I was in the presence of Perfecion.

I call in the morning to confirm (and to hear his voice):  “Inside of your arm…on your wrist,” he says.

I ask him why he married before meeting me (but not out loud) and hang up the phone.  I then turned the prescription bottle two clicks and applied my first dose of Progesterone.  Bringing my levels up is supposed to increase my sex drive…filling my prescriptions through Perfecion appears to have increased it two-fold.  The actual cream may put me over the edge.  It’s time to go back to Vegas.  Like today.

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