It is the last weekend before Mardi Gras and so what better time to go to the doctor to have your electrocardiogram checked out?
As it turns out, I’ve had high blood pressure the last three times I’ve been to the doctor and that’s the number of times that they force you to stop saying “well, it’s just high because I’m freaking out because I’m at the doctor.”
So when I went to the dermatologist on Tuesday morning (luckily, everything she saw has a name for it in Latin… and none of them start with “m”) and had a something something cystic something removed from the top of the back of my head to be sent off to the lab, they took my blood pressure at both the start and the finish and they sent me downstairs to talk to a doctor who had me take my first electrocardiogram and he told me that my first electrocardiogram was not, in fact, a boring one.
“Do you have any questions?”
“What questions should I be asking?”
He smiled. “Do I have heart disease?”
“Do I have heart disease?”
“Yes, the very beginnings of it.” Then he talked about ventricles and plaque and whatnot.
So then I had a stress test on Wednesday and it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. The nurse was nice and asked if I had any questions and my first question was “how many people have died doing this in the past, oh, year?” “None. None here, anyway.”
Which was good enough for me.
I have LVH, looks like, the nurse at the clinic told me. I’ll get the great big *OFFICIAL* diagnosis at my Primary Care Physician tomorrow.
So they put me on lisinopril (lowest dose!) and that means that I’ve had my last glass of wine.
It was a zinfandel.
It was delicious.
And this weekend will be spent going to the grocery store and buying ingredients and then doing cooking and other prep for my lifestyle diet that begins, once again, on Ash Wednesday.
So… what’s on your docket?
(Image is “Play” by Clare Briggs. Used with permission of the Briggs estate.)