The low point was probably the evening that the needle wouldn’t go into my stomach.
It was a Sunday and I’d been injecting myself with hormones every night for a week. There was a theatre to the procedure that I’d almost come to enjoy: close my bedroom door, sit on the edge of the bed, unwrap a needle from its plastic sheath, stick it into a vial and draw the plunger back to the correct dose, pinch a fold of stomach fat, press the needle into the fat and push down. It stung, but not for long, and the sting was normally overtaken by a wave of invincibility. I’d just injected myself! Hardcore! In the unlikely event I ever found myself in an action film