Chapter 13
Shelley
Islam my book shut and give up pretending to concentrate on studying.
Every spare brain cell I have is still dedicated to dissecting last night’s conversation.
Maybe it was rude to hang up on Jordan, but I do know what I want.
I’m just not ready to hear him tell me once again why I can’t have him.
Or apparently why I shouldn’t be with anyone else either.
Or maybe I’m being harsh, because he didn’t actually say that.
Sor—I only type half of an apology text before I think better of it and delete the message.
You know what? No.
I’m not apologizing. He’s the one out here sending all these mixed signals.
He doesn’t get to reject the idea of being with me, say we can only be friends, and then act put out when I try to be friends with him.
Like he asked for. What exactly does he want me to do?
Not date him, but also ignore all other men for the rest of my life?
Screw that. I’m a grown-ass woman with needs.
Then again, maybe I’m being unfair. Should I stop talking to him about this stuff?
I know I should probably cool it with the flirting.
The strip tease was a bit much, I’ll admit.
But if we’re really supposed to be friends, Jordan could at least also make an effort.
Before yesterday, I hadn’t heard from him in weeks.
And I had to be the first one to reach out.
At the hotel, it seemed like he enjoyed talking to me.
I thought we were confiding in each other.
I really like being able to get Jordan’s perspective.
His advice helps me get out of my own head and look at things a little more objectively.
But maybe I still really am just Mike’s little sister to him.
Maybe I don’t mean as much to him as he means to me.
Okay, apparently talking to him doesn’t always get me out of my head, considering my current thought patterns are pretty much the definition of overthinking.
Whatever.
I don’t have time for this. I pull out my laptop and click the link in my email for my telehealth appointment with my psychiatrist. It takes a few minutes beyond my scheduled appointment time, so I’m bouncing my knees and picking an eraser apart, shredding it into piles of red dust by the time Dr. Rappon pops onto the screen.
“Hi, Michelle. How’s everything going?”
“Um, fine, I guess?”
“School is good? And your family?”
“Yeah. Family is great. My brother got married recently, and we all had a nice time at the wedding. School is going well.” It’s always been easy for me to memorize facts and dates, so learning about statutes and regulations comes naturally.
It’s the social aspect that can be hard for me.
That, and managing my time and staying organized. But my grades are fine.
“Glad to hear it. So, how can I help you today?”
“I was hoping to talk about my meds.”
He nods. “Of course. That’s why I’m here.”
I swallow. “Um, I also had bloodwork done recently, so I wanted to make sure you saw that, too, in case you need it.”
“Let me pull up your chart. Yep. It’s right here. Everything looks good to me. All your levels are within a normal range.”
“Cool. So, I do have a question...”
He waits a few seconds, but when I still don’t ask, he prompts, “Yes?”
“Sorry. It’s just, I was wondering, could this medicine have any, uh, side effects...of the sexual variety?” I look down at my hands, brushing away some of the eraser crumbs, and pick at my thumbnail.
He responds gently. “Every medication comes with several side effects. Is there something specific you’re experiencing?”
I take a breath, reminding myself he’s a doctor as I look up into the screen again.
“It’s actually more like not experiencing.
” I feel my face redden. Why does my psychiatrist have to be so young and so male?
Would it be too much to ask to get these conversations translated through cartoon avatars or something?
“I see. Well, yes. Unfortunately, while meds can be very helpful in some areas, the improvements they make to our lives do come at a cost. As far as this medication goes, it wouldn’t be unusual for a patient to experience things like decreased libido, personal dryness, or anorgasmia.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, some folks report a noticeable increase in those areas.
It just depends on your body’s unique chemistry. ”
“What’s anorgasmia?”
“The inability to achieve a climax during intercourse.”
Right. I should’ve figured that out from the context clues.
Now I feel dumb. Of course there’s an actual medical term for not being able to come.
“And that’s a side effect of this particular ADHD medicine?
My gynecologist said it might be worth looking into.
Oh, and she also prescribed me a cream with estrogen in it.
That won’t cause any interactions with my other medicines, will it? I think it might be helping a little.”
“I don’t think the cream will cause any negative reactions. Glad to hear you think it’s doing its job. Obviously, if it causes a rash or burning, then stop using it because you might be allergic. Otherwise, it might actually improve the efficacy of your stimulant.”
“Really?”
He nods again. “There are theories and anecdotal evidence that increasing estrogen levels could have a positive effect on dopamine levels and executive functioning skills during menopause as well as in women with ADHD.”
“Only anecdotal evidence?”
“Unfortunately, we still have a lot of work to do when it comes to understanding women’s bodies,” he says, diplomatically.
It’s good to know Jo is out there trying to do the research.
Dr. Rappon continues, “As far as the anorgasmia being related to the stimulant, yes. It’s possible. These medications affect neurotransmitters in the brain, and occasionally that can lead to difficulties in the way our bodies function in other areas.”
Even though intellectually I knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I’m still hit with an immediate wave of relief hearing him confirm there could actually be a legitimate medical reason for my problem.
And it’s not just me. Although, it sucks to be part of the decreased libido group and not the fun one. Figures.
“Would, um, would anorgasmia be a good enough reason to try a different medication?”
Dr. Rappon gives me a level look. “My job is to help you find what works best for you. If you aren’t satisfied with your current meds for any reason, we can either adjust the dosage or try something else.”
“I’m definitely not satisfied,” I admit with a smirk, letting a little humor come through.
A small smile crosses his face as he picks up on my double-meaning.
“No problem. I’d prefer to wean you off one drug slowly before we try another.
How about we try this: I’ll write this month’s prescription for a lower dose, and we’ll see how you feel, especially adding the estrogen.
If you find you’re still experiencing these symptoms by our next appointment, we’ll talk about some other options. Sound good?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
With my medication plan settled, at least I know I can head to class this afternoon with a clear conscience and a loose semblance of a plan. I’ve got this. Maybe I don’t even need Jordan after all.
I’d still like to talk to someone about my body who truly understands, so I finally reach out to Jo. Only this time, I’m not taking any chances sharing this information with her over the phone, so I shoot off a quick text to ask if she can meet in person.
Me: Hey! I know it’s been a while. I’ve been following your posts, and I love seeing you absolutely kill it professionally. I’ll be coming home soon for a quick visit. Think you’ll have time to grab lunch and catch up?
She writes back quickly.
Jo: Absolutely! I’d love to see you. Let me know where and when. I’ll be there.
Through a few more brief texts, we make plans to meet at our favorite cafe the day after Mike’s game.
Jo: Can’t wait! See you soon.