Elementary, my dear Watson

I went.  I did it.  I managed to make it to the cunting doctor and it was absolutely fucking fine and now I wonder why I was so absurdly frightened of it.

I didn't go into too much depth, because I didn't want to overwhelm Watson with my staggering amount of maladies.  I didn't even mention the skin cancer, although it's going to have to come up eventually, being as it's still latched to my back like a deadly limpet and I am starting to get shooting pains like it is burrowing into my spine.  So we stuck to general anxiety and depression, and I even managed to restrain myself from weeping, which is a considerable feat for me under far more minor circumstances.

One of the prescribed narcotics is a month's worth of propranolol, which she said should keep my heartrate beneath an explosive level and with luck reduce the inordinate amount of panic attacks.  At least it should help me get through a day at work without having to curl up in the bathroom and hug the toilet roll until I've summoned up the strength the face the children.  Once the month is up, I'm to go back and let her know how I'm getting on with them.  She also suggested looking into this mindfulness shenanigans, which seems to keep cropping up but I know little about it.  I believe I may have acquired a copy of it though, as I recall my sister sent it over after receiving it during some medical trial she was participating in.  Unfortunately, it resides upon my old laptop, which has voided half its screen.  But there is definitely something on there called 'ulness,' and I can't think what else might precede that apart from 'mindf,' unless it was 'balefulness' or 'frightfulness,' both of which I suppose I might be apt to say even if I can't think for the life of me why I would have saved a document as that on Microsoft Word...

After receiving the prescription I immediately went to sample the goods, and immediately after that I made the somewhat poor decision to sample the side-effects.  I had queried Watson about them and she had mentioned the usual; nausea, headaches, dizziness particularly, but on perusing the propranolol pamphlet I noted a number of exceedingly disturbing symptoms that she had failed to alert me to.  Namely, rectal bleeding, scaly skin, and complete stoppage of the heart.  As it is, a number of hours have passed since taking them, and while my heart still beats, I am burdened by the constant knowledge that each next beat could be my last.

That, however, is not an uncommon fear and I am growing quite used to the notion of my own mortality.  As long as I do not linger on it for too long it no longer overwhelms me with incomprehensible terror at the idea of an eternity in darkness.  Now it merely gives me a sudden surge of horror that is roundly quashed by that delightful part of my psyche that tries so hard to keep me sane.

I suppose they can't be all that bad.  They're pink and they end in 'lol.'

The rectal bleeding has yet to put in an appearance.