Little White Pills

"I think we should try a blood pressure medication. Are you all right with that, Mr. Cosgriff?" my doctor asked me yesterday.

"Yes, I am," I replied. My blood pressure has been high for about two years now. I do walk 6 out of 7 mornings, yet could stand to lose weight. Not that I haven't actually lost any. Between February's checkup and yesterday's I lost a pound. True, that isn't impressive. But it is, uh, shall we say, trending in the right direction.

My mind had already been made up that I was going to ask for medication no matter what he told me. I don't want to be paranoid but as I told the good doc, I don't want to have a debilitating stroke at 68 because we didn't start taking precautionary measures now. He agreed, along with the admonition to continue walking and to try to eat better and lose a few pounds. In my defense I think I am eating better. I'm just eating too much of it. Three pounds of salad, even dry salad (no dressing) is still three pounds of food.

I'll take my blood pressure every day along with the name which I can't pronounce of the prescription drug. I heard all the warnings: watch that your pressure doesn't drop too low, notice if you have dizzy spells (quiet Ron) and blah, blah. I didn't listen to nor read them all. The precautions are too much like War and Peace these days.

 With all that in mind, I held the little pill in my hand this morning before popping it down my throat, thinking, well, me and you now, little buddy. It's simply another aspect of the aging process. Life goes on. Hopefully for quite a while yet.