Not dead yet.

You’re a fool, you know that.  A fool to think your body would not start to
decay. A fool to imagine your heart would kick on unimpeded forever.  
The blind optimism of your mother.  Even she could not hold out against
death. 
It’s less than a year since my mother died
and already my mortality hits me in the face. 
I’m next in line of the generations to die and although in this world of
never ending youth, or at least the pursuit of it, I’m not that old yet, I sometimes
feel it. 
Science could let me have another
baby if I put my mind and money to it, but I’m past the grandiosity or the desperation of such a
move, only I resent my blood pressure rising. 
I’m lucky, the doctor told me at my
last visit, I have symptoms, light-headedness, pressure in my head.  Some people don’t notice until it’s too late
and then, kerplunck, they’re dead. 
The doctor made taking Coversyl for hypertension sound
as commonplace as taking Panadol for a headache. 
Once you’re past a certain
age, once in your fifties, or past sixty, you’re likely to need it.  It’s like with cars. 
They wear out, so do bodies. 
‘If I asked the population of
people over fifty to put up their hands, at least fifty per cent or more would
be on Coversyl, sooner or later,’ the doctor said.
And so my fate is sealed.  Five milligrams of the tiny blue pill and in
the morning my blood pressure on my home machine had dropped to below 120 over
68. 
What’s in this stuff.  
The placebo effect must in there somewhere,
too, because as soon as I took that small blue pill I began to feel better.

I’m so persuadable.  Give me a
doctor whose argument sounds reasonably sound and I’m off, following his advice, but I
won’t be decided completely on this course of action, this reading of past events,
until I see my female doctor, the only one I trust, and then hopefully things
will settle down.

It’s a warning

‘A stroke is the worst of all,’ my
GP said to me once many years ago. 
Her words have stuck. 
‘Imagine it,’ she said.  ‘You’re
alive, but paralysed.  At best you
might get back your ability to walk, to use a knife and fork, to speak again, but at
worst you’ll sit like a vegetable, brain damaged and unable to care for
yourself for the rest of your life.’
My older sister takes good care of herself these days.  She meditates first thing in the
morning.  She eats a balanced diet,
does not drink too much, or smoke, and is physically active.  Recently she started to feel dizzy to
the point she dared not even drive her car.  
Next a visit to her GP who told my sister it was lucky she
had arrived at the doctor’s surgery when she had.  She could have suffered a stroke.
 Besides the dizziness, my sister’s blood pressure was up.  The doctor then urged my sister to take blood pressure reducing drugs. 
This then is story one: my sister’s
blood pressure, and given she is my sister I go out in sympathy with her.  I
watch as my head starts to feel dizzy and my blood pressure rises.
Story two:  my sister in law who last week took herself off
for her regular two yearly visit to the optometrist.
‘There are signs of a stroke, here’
the optometrist said to my sister in law after he had examined her eyes.  Best you take yourself off to your
doctor to get it checked out.’
My sister-in-law’s doctor then sent
her off to a specialist for tests. 
She’s yet to get the results but her GP had tried to reassure her that
these are signs only, not facts.  Besides people can sometimes have tiny strokes
and not even notice.  Still it’s a
warning. 
A warning of what? I have this
tendency to identify with people and their ailments. In any case, I’m off to
see the doctor tomorrow to check out my own rising blood pressure.
I bought a blood pressure monitor
from the chemist so I could take my blood pressure myself away from the anxiety
producing doctor.  ‘White coat hypertension’
they call it.  You see the doctor
and the minute she applies the cuff around your arm and pumps up the monitor
your blood pressure increases. 
Now it’s happening to me.  I can feel my heart race as soon as I
consider the possibility of trotting off to the kitchen to check my blood pressure.  And it has not registered at 138 or less systolic since I started
checking a week ago.  So now I’m
panicking.
Story three: my mother’s heart
began to fail over eighteen months ago now.  Medication has kept her going but there’s only so much more
her heart can take before it gives out altogether. 
The blood pressure monitor sits on
the kitchen table calling to me. 
It calls to me, ‘come now and try again’.  You never know it might be normal once more and then you can
sigh a sigh of relief and when you go to the doctor tomorrow you can tell the
doctor it has been high at times but it has also been normal.  And the doctor will say, these things
happen, not to worry. 
Or the doctor, my doctor, will be
like my sister’s doctor and whack me onto blood pressure reducing
medication. 
I’m happy to self medicate from
time to time with alcohol.  I’m
happy to buy over the counter herbal remedies, but I do not enjoy the thought
of taking the medication that western medicine produces unless it is for short
term purposes.  Nothing of the long
term variety for me and yet I know there are times when it is essential.
Until ten years ago my mother
boasted that she needed no medication whatsoever to keep her going.  Even in her early eighties apart from a
calcium supplement and the occasional use of painkillers to help her with her
arthritis she took nothing.  Now
she takes lolly bags full of the stuff, pink and blue, yellow and green, large
pills and small, morning, noon and night.  
There are worse things could
happen, says my optimistic self. 
So what if you need medication to reduce your heart pressure?  But the me that prefers to have a body
that goes on regardless, that needs almost no attention whatsoever beyond
eating, drinking and sleeping, and the occasional walk or exercise, hopes to be
spared.  
My mind split off from my body however, is a different matter.  It needs all the attention it can get.