Well, I went back.
Part of me didn’t want to. I was afraid my doctor would tell me nothing had changed. My blood pressure would still be 156 over 96. I’d still be in the 95th percentile for a possible heart attack in the next two years.
But I went back. And the news wasn’t all bad.
My blood pressure has gone down, thank to the medicine. But just a little. And not enough to make my doctor happy.
So, now I’m scheduled for more tests in two weeks. I have to get a blood pressure cuff and test myself at least two times a day. I can go back to doing moderate exercise – like I ever did anything MORE than moderate before being diagnosed! J
I have to say that at first I felt guilty. I was at fault for letting my weight creep back up on me. But my doctor explained that my weight wasn’t really to blame. It was good old genetics. Afterwards, back in the snowy parking lot, I looked up at the heavens and said, “Thanks a lot, Dad!”
I’m glad I inherited his sense of humor, but why did I have to inherit his heart disease too? Oh well, into every life a little rain – or high blood pressure – must fall.
At least it went down. And, obviously, I’m not dead yet.
A little morbid maybe, but not dead.