It had been to that point an excellent day, one that I'd spent a good bit of the afternoon of wandering around inside a warehouse-like space with friends enjoying freshly-shucked oysters with a modicum of beers brewed there. After slipping off the coat and blazer I'd worn as a buffer against the cold during the expected wait to get in, I scooted about collecting my salty seafood bounty in a simple black dress with purple tights visually separating my black boots. In that moment, I felt at home in my own body beyond any point that I had before in my life, possibly ever.
We returned to the center of town, and as I changed clothes, I discovered my trans-dermal patch had come partly undone. I readjusted it and mentally noted that I probably needed to start the next one upon returning home, a day early. Sadly, I then remembered that I was running low, and perhaps should order more. My usual source, though, changed their procedure, and I found myself stuck, and panicking.
The shipping overhead time is upward of 2 weeks. I had 3 weekly patches left. I could go visit a local pharmacy, but being fairly certain Gwen's insurance would be of no help, the 500% increase in cost if I did so made me blanch. How painful would it be if I was suddenly forced to pay the greater cost of the required hormones unaided? It wasn't a great time for it, but I could do it. The biggest issue, though, was it reminded me exactly how fleeting the body I had was: one which needed to be coaxed and prodded toward the form I wanted to see in the mirror, and even then, one which due to costs I had barely scratched the surface of reshaping.
In some states, health insurance is mandated to include the coverage I need. For me, I was on my own. I wasn't even sure a small company could buy the coverage I needed, period. I'd found ways to patch together a solution so far, and I had breathing room, if only a little, to keep things on track to at least that extent. Despite feeling like I was swimming upstream, I resolved to let it go at least for the night. It was Saturday, after business hours, and stressing would solve nothing. But it was hard to own my progress in the face of being reminded what I had to endure to keep it, let alone advance it.