I have a birthday coming up. It’s more of red flag in my list of major events of the coming year, as opposed to previous years when I looked forward to it for all the reasons that birthdays are looked forward to.
This year, though, I felt a bit nervous at the impending step up in age. I wasn’t so sure that my previous good luck, both physically and mentally and generally would hold up. No, I wasn’t suffering from a bout of despair, or even having a ‘blue day’. I was suffering from a medical misunderstanding.
Our insurance requires us to get a ‘Health Screening’ check-up once a year to make sure that we are in ‘good’ shape. I was required to fast after midnight, but my appointment was early enough not to get me too grouchy about missing my first cup of coffee.
At the ‘Health Screening’ there are a series of ‘tents,’ little cloth partitions and cubicles for the tests and consults. They do a finger stick, check blood pressure and measure Body Mass Index. Going in, I wasn’t nervous, because we do, in general, eat quite well at our house. Lots of fish and whole grains, rice instead of potatoes and very little red meat. I do enjoy a cheese burger once in a while, but never with high frequency.
So when the lady stuck my finger, I joyfully proclaimed that she could stick away at any time, (though she had already) I was ready for the youch. She struggled to get the tiny driplet of blood and squeezed my finger until I nearly did say ‘youch’. Next, it was on to the BMI tent. That lady was particularly friendly. She checked my blood pressure, sympathized with me about my finger (which throbbed, more from the squeezing than the stick) and asked me to step on the scale, took my weight and then measured my waist.
I don’t weigh very much. In fact, for my height, my weight is excellent, and so, it was not a point I was worried about either.
Finally, after a jovial farewell from the BMI lady, I was dismissed to sit with the other slightly disgruntled group, who had all had their fingers pricked and squeezed, and were waiting to meet with their respective ‘Health Councillor’.
Unlike my comrades, I was positively buoyant. I walk a lot. I walk to and from work, twice every day, and most weekends we hike just shy of eight hilly and beautiful miles. I was at a particularly good weight, and my BMI was non-existent. My insurance would continue to be free, and I looked forward fondly to my impending cup of coffee.
Suddenly the room seemed to darken, and a thick fog rolled through the tents. A large woman, whose BMI I wouldn’t like to guess, came over to me and handed me a sheet of paper. With a smile that seemed more a sneer, she told me that my ‘Health Councilor’ would see me now. Had she been wearing a black executioners hood?
I stood woozily, and stepped toward the ‘tent’ where I now had the feeling my doom would be pronounced. As I walked, I thought I heard a solemn crow cawing to his friends that soon there would be fresh carrion. Did I see a gallows through the mist before my eyes?
The lady in the tent was very genuine. She had a thick Caribbean accent, and a very warm manner. She told me, with the gentleness of delivery that only health professionals know how to muster, that my health may not be as good as I originally thought.
I began to protest, but she gently quelled me. “Doon’t woory, no. Just got a few areas oov concern,” she said, “Every tin gone be arright.”
Apparently my blood pressure was higher than it should be for someone with my physiological status. My Good Cholesterol was in the toilet, and my Bad Cholesterol was flying high. My triglycerides were neatly following the Bad Cholesterol, and my glucose was high, even though I hadn’t had one stitch or scrap of food for over eight hours.
The gallows came clearly into view. I heard a dirge being sung by mournful voices.
I was shattered (and now I desperately needed a cup of coffee).
What happened? I walk and eat right almost all the time! I maintain a healthy weight, and I walk for heaven’s sake!
My mind turned immediately to my dear friend, our family physician, who knew better than even I did, the ins and outs of my health. As I called to schedule an appointment, I felt as though I was petitioning the governor to commute my sentence.
Finally, a week later I sat there with our beloved doctor, listening as she went over my results.
Yes, in both arms my blood pressure was a mite high, nevertheless, given our lifestyle, it was nothing to be medically concerned with, yet. “Keep walking, less beer, more red wine and avoid those cheeseburgers more.” Okay, I can do that.
She was certain that a drastic change in my cholesterol numbers as they appeared on the form bearing the results my Health Councilor had given me, was a math error only. So, I rolled up my sleeve, and gave a good bit more blood for the measurement.
In a few moments, I was back in the consulting room with a Snoopy bandaide in the crook of my arm, and fingers crossed.
When she came in, she positively beamed. My Good Cholesterol was better than Good, it was Great. My Bad Cholesterol was slinking around shamefully and my glucose was perfect for only having had a apple for breakfast.
Walking out of the doctor’s offices, I felt a great sense of relief. The camp of ‘tents’ and and councillors seemed a bad memory, and I felt the sunshine on my face, having been freed from a terrible doom, with a relish I can hardly describe.
Still, my Blood Pressure was a mite high. And beginning now, with my birthday on its way, I will have to monitor those numbers more and more. It’s worth mentioning that at my age, these things become ever more common. Something else to look forward to, I guess, along with my birthday.
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