Pulsating Humor

My pulse has always been low. As a matter of fact, it was 46 at my last checkup in June. My doctor isn't particularly worried, yet as with so many other things as we age he wants to 'keep an eye on it'. "So when do we start to get concerned?" I asked my MD.

"If it gets to 40 or less."

"Ah," I responded, "At that point we have to 'pump' my heart up?"

The doctor stared at me for a couple of seconds, then blinked once and said, "I have other patients to see, Mr. Cosgriff."

Hey, come on. It's clever.

Under Pressure

I had a doctor's appointment this past week; got to get my money's worth out of Medicare, you know.

Everything is fine; I'm the picture of health, if that picture is hanging skin and gray hair. But I think my physician had had a bad commute or was mad at his wife or something.

He decided to check my blood pressure. Wrapping the cuff around my arm, he began pumping that little ball to air the thing up. It was getting tighter and tighter, yet he kept squeezing and squeezing on the tiny air pump.

Uh, Doc, that's starting to hurt. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Seriously, man, my arm is really tingling below my elbow. Pump, pump, pump.

Honestly, Doctor, my arm is blue, no, purple. My arm is purple, Doc. Squeeze, squeeze.

"Doc!" I finally implored in panic.

"Oh, I am sorry!" He finally released the ball. "Oh dear, Mr. Cosgriff! Your blood pressure is 295 over 178!" 

I'm sure it's not, Doc. Try again, on my other arm. The bicep on my right arm is smaller than my index finger just now.

The 13% Solution

I don't believe that I'm alone in worrying about my health as I get older. Paranoia increases with the calendar. Yet my doctor has thrown at me some interesting calculus in trying to assure me that my overall health is really very good.

My blood pressure is, to my mind anyway, high, or higher than I would like it to be anyway, although my physician does not share my view. He's all right with it. 

When I voiced my concerns during my last checkup, he pulled my charts up on the computer in the examination room and began calculating. My blood pressure history times my age divided by great cholesterol numbers interpreted by the cosine of my vitamin D levels divided by the iron in my blood weighed against my ideal amount of potassium subtracted from the sodium seen in my white cell count compared to kidney function in ratio to my being about 25 pounds overweight contrasted to the zenith of the rising Sun on the Tenth of October in 2019 means that I have about a 13% chance of a serious cardiac or stroke event in the next ten years. "And we don't even worry at all under ten percent, because that's just about anyone's risk at your age," he assured me. "So you're in good health Mr. Cosgriff."

Well. That's it then. I'm healthy. Even if I didn't understand a word he said.

124 over 72

At the second of my twice yearly checkups Monday, all my numbers were good. Cholesterol was good, A1C was good, vitamin D was fine, and my blood pressure was 124/72. My doctor was fine with that. I was ecstatic; my BP had been creeping high for about a year and a half and I fully expected to be given meds for it if it had stayed up. 

I almost hate saying things like this, because we all have stories of someone bragging about how good their health was and then keeling over a minute later. But I feel great, better honestly than I have in twenty years, physically and mentally. Seeing that blood pressure drop almost 25 points can help an outlook too. I guess there is something to that exercise thing.

Still, the doc did have to take a minute to excoriate me about something. "You could stand to lose 10 to 15 pounds, Mr. Cosgriff. After all, you've gained two pounds since February."

What is it about doctors and weight? "You've gained two pounds since February," I wanted to say in a mocking voice. Come on, doc, everything's great. Two pounds in six months is, what, 2/3 of a pound a month. Okay, maybe technically I am headed in the wrong direction there. But I ain't exactly eating myself to death either. 

But, all right, I have until next February, me Mom's birthday in fact, when my next appointment has been set, to drop 10-15 pounds. But if I actually do, a big if in itself I concede, I can't help but wonder what he might find to complain about instead. 

Baby it's cold outside

It's that time of year. That time where I have to ask myself how much longer I can take morning walks. Beyond there being snow and ice on the ground I have no hard and fast rules about when to give up the daily constitutional. But today left me thinking about when I should stop.

There were snowflakes wafting by me this morning. The skies were gray and the air chill, though the sun did try to sneak through the clouds. It was, at the risk of understatement, dreary.

I'll not quit for a few weeks yet, to be sure. So long as I can layer and not feel too much frost on my nose I'll keep going. Part of the trouble is that walking's become my favorite form of exercise. It offers change with continuity if only on a small scale, something regular readers will know I value. Sure, we have a motorized treadmill and an exercise bike in the basement. But man, they're dull, even with the TV or radio on, or a CD playing. At least walking through even the same neighborhood varies a bit: you can wind around it differently. And walking by itself feels like progress. Staying in the same place feels just like that.

So we'll see. Last year I made until the first significant snowfall, which happened in mid-December. December 11, I believe, was my last walk last year. So my goal is beat that. Otherwise, to the exercise bike!

At least, that's my mantra. Making it into reality will be the actual challenge of course.

120/70

120/70. Man, them are some good numbers.

This morning I had my regular checkup with my regular doctor and I think those numbers tell it all.

120/70.

My blood pressure as of 8 O'clock this morning.

To say I'm pleased is understatement. Sublime understatement. It hasn't been that low since high school. Even then, I seemed to have the opposite problem. For my senior year physical it was 101/59; the doc then was concerned that maybe it was too low.

But now - contented sigh - 120/70.

Oh, I've somehow gained three pounds since June, and my pulse (48bpm) is a bit low. The Doctor chided me over those factoids. They have to complain about something, you know. I know how I gained the weight too: I have not in the least bit watched what I eat in the last few months. But for now...

120/70. I think I'll make it my mantra.

Watching new curlers

I arrived at the curling club early yesterday, and there were a bunch of new curlers on the ice. Let me tell you, man, they were awful.

Most shots were either too heavy and went beyond the scoring area, or house, or were too light and not anywhere close to scoring. They were lining up to sweep around two-thirds of the way down the ice, so that very often they would have to slide back to the stone to sweep it, overshoot the rock and then have to slide forward towards it. They threw wrong handles, they gave wrong signals, they swept too much on many rocks and too little on others.

But despite all that, I admired their enthusiasm. They were laughing and pointing and teasing each other. They were going, oh, so close, on the almost made shots then were absolutely giddy when someone, anyone, did make a shot. You might have thought they'd won a million bucks. They were having a great time.

I think that might be the best way to discover curling. Give the new players some basic instruction, then get out of the way and let them have fun with it. That might just be how you get newbies excited about playing more and learning the details along the way.

I was told that this same group would be coming out at the same time for the next six weeks. I enjoyed myself so much just watching them that I may just go early again next week.