Pro(pecia)s and Cons

A new follower sent me an email last week, and included a question that I thought deserved a broader airing.  Lucky you!  She was interested in the sort of results I was getting from taking Propecia (finasteride).

I have been on the drug for a year and a half now, roughly.  I cannot see that it has produced a single new hair on my head.  Maybe it has slowed the progress of my forehead.  Maybe.  My forehead believes in manifest destiny, and won't rest until it reaches the promised land at the crown of my head.  My scalp is plainly visible through my wispy locks.  If that were my only goal in taking the drug, I would drop it.

I see positive side effects in other areas.  My half-calf barely needs maintenance anymore.  Perhaps the credit for that should go to the regular beatings by the epilator, but I think the drug may be reducing the growth there.  Hard to know, but I like having a follicle-free zone south of my neck.

Of course, finasteride is also used as part of the hormone cocktail given to transwomen.  It is an androgen blocker, which I suppose is why it is used for hair growth.  Blocking androgens was really my ulterior motive in getting the prescription to start with.  My hair was too far gone for any realistic hope of revival.  Reducing the testosterone coursing through my veins was a very attractive side effect, and I think that has been accomplished.

I have written several times that my gender dysphoria has been less of a problem over the last year or so.  I keep expecting to be gobsmacked, but it has remained quite mild.  Only recently did I realize that this emotional leveling corresponds to my intake of Propecia.  I think that reducing the toxic T in my system has allowed me a measure of feminine feeling that my body no longer recognizes as the enemy.  Two thumbs up.

(Warning: Euphemistic single-entendres ahead!)  What about the bedroom, you ask?  The Senator does not have the same spontaneity that he had previously, and for that, I am appreciative.  He has not been invited onto the dance floor by a partner since last October, so it would be difficult to say if he can still do the mystery dance all the way to the coda.  He is still called upon to perform his one-man show from time to time, and he still hits his marks and knows his lines.  This is quite enough for me to support his reelection efforts.

Elixir

The pink fog comes on little kitten heels.*

As has become the norm, it snuck up on me again.  I don't even realize that it's there until I, um, notice it.  That my thoughts have been lingering continually on a very narrow area, and how very lonely I am feeling.  It's sneaky that way.  Like cooking a lobster: start with a cold pot of water, and it doesn't even know that the end is near.

The mini-crisis worked itself out by attending my monthly meeting, just the elixir that I have come to count on.  Our guest speaker was my therapist, and she had prepared a presentation this time around.  Previous times, she had moderated Q&A sessions, which were great, but this was more engaging for the group as a whole.  She has taught Sexual Development at the university, and this played out like a good interactive lecture. 

The company of my friends broke the spell of my dysphoria.  They have problems, too, and that pulls me out of my own self-pitying habit.  My issues are different, but are certainly no worse than many others.  It's a nice little reality check.  Zen and the art of motor-psyche maintenance.

5am and off to bed.

* (apologies to Carl Sandburg)