Oh Dear

And just who is my future husband, as per the ritual of the Eve of Saint Agnes?

Out of all of the eligible and ineligible men on the face of this planet, including singer, astronauts, politicians, supermodels, and hottie actors, it would be someone I know. Indeed, it is even someone I once chaperoned.

My future husband is Little André.

What have I done to deserve this?

Doctor, Doctor

I just got back from the doctor's office, not too long ago. At long last, the doctor finally agreed that yes, it probably is the propranalol which has been sapping me of both energy and intellect over the last few years. I am being phased off the stuff and put onto something different. I am very, very paranoid of this transition. It took me about six months or so to get used to the propranalol in the first place. Whenever I accidentally forget a pill, I'm fucked up for several days, both energetically and intellectually. And now I'm to wean myself off the pills, a half-pill every three or four days, all while taking this new, mystery medicine.

Propranalol is a beta blocker. The way it was explained to me, it slows my heart down a bit, making it difficult for my pulse to raise. This would explain perfectly why if I'm on a cardio machine and it asks me to get my pulse to 160, that I feel like I'm going to die of an exploded heart. Apparently, the medicine is more normally prescribed to older folks with heart conditions who would never do halfway as much exercise as I do. It explains why I feel like I'm going to pass out during strenuous activities. And being a martial artist and dancer, that means I am frequently on the verge of blacking out.

Bah!

I'm going to talk to my metal arts instructors tomorrow. I'm going to explain that I might be seriously fucked-up for quite some time until my body acclimatizes itself to both the new meds and the lack of old ones. I'm sure they'll be supportive. Two of my instructors also suffer from migraines, and have already sent me home early on days when it was obvious I was useless.

Yup. I'm worried. Very, very trepid. What if this new pill turns me into a vegetable like that last one did? Will I again lie in bed for several days without even having enough get-go to change my underwear? Gad. That was scary. I wish I could do without any meds at all, but then I think of the months I spent mostly blind and in a constant state of distracted confusion, and I think the meds are the lesser of the evils.

Nevertheless, the visit to the doctor wasn't wholly nerve-wracking. During my overdue yearly humiliation, while the doctor was still under the hood, I heard her say, "Where is that cervix? Your pelvic floor is very, very tight. It must be all the belly dance."

High-five! Who needs Kegels?