Saturday, November 09, 2002

I believe in living a symmetrical life. Things should look right. Right should match left. Left should match right. Who wants one bushy eyebrow and one skinny one? Who wants one brown sock and one black one? No one, that's who.

A week ago I went to the doctor. I needed a refill of Nasonex. Nasonex is this really great, effective, medicine that you shoot up your nose once a day. In exchange for humbling yourself in that way you forego the joys of sniffling, sneezing, and crying through allergy season. And as I have learned, allergy season lasts 365 days in these parts. The stuff really works and I was running low. I called my doctor's office for a refill and they said I'd have to come in and see the doctor to get one. So I made an appointment and I went. That, as I said, was a week ago.

Really all I wanted was the refill. Just write me the script and I'm outta here. No such luck. An hour after I arrived I left, prescription in hand. I also had a reciept for a chest x-ray, EKG, blood work, urinalysis, and the ever beloved male mid-life thrill... the prostate exam. Woo-hoo. And he didn't even buy me dinner first.

But I got what I wanted. And then I got more than I wanted. The mail came today, and with it, the results of my testing. EKG looks good. I have a heart, it beats, and seems to stay in sync. (Who says I ain't got rhythm?) I am an expert pee'r too. That's a relief. I figured it was pure caffiene. My chest x-ray indicated the presence of lungs. They function. This is good because I've become attached to breathing.

And then there is the blood work. I knew it was coming. There really wasn't any doubt. About 10 years ago I was walking through Northwest Plaza with friends when we stumbled across a booth in center court where they were doing a cholesterol screening. I had never had mine checked, so I went for it. Uh oh. It was 211. Not good. I went to the doctor and he gave me medicine. The medicine made me sick. Actually, it made me wish I was dead. Everything hurt. I went back to the doctor and he ran more tests to find out why I hurt. There wasn't a reason. I threw the bottle of medicine in the toilet. The next day I was healed. Sometimes a good move in the bathroom relieves a multitude of symptoms.

I found a new doctor and he told me to work out more and eat better. I was already working out 3 days each week. But ok, I do want to live to see my grand kids. I upped the work outs to 5 days a week. I would run 3 miles each time, stair-master 100 floors, and finish up with 5 nautilus machines. Then it was off to the hot tub and the pool. A quick shower later and I was on my way home. I didn't touch a french fry for months. Chickens feared me. Turkeys had nightmares about me. I went back to the doctor and... miracle of miracles... my cholesterol was 187! My triglycerides were down from 800 to 300! He told me I was his poster boy. Eating well and working out NEVER works because no one ever really does it. I did. And it did. I was soooo proud.

And then last year came and the roof fell in. I got sick. Just a little thing brought on my over useing my adrenal system. Suddenly it stopped working. Not good. Let's just say it was a year in hell and leave it at that, shall we? If you wanna know more ask me. Other wise, suffice it to say, it was not fun. And a part of the problem was that I was too avid about my work-outs. I kept competing with myself... trying to beat my best time. Trying to always raise my total weigh lifted. Trying to climb 100 flights of stairs faster than last week. So what was good for me... was bad for me. It saved one system and trashed the other. Or at least it helped trash it. So I quit working out. I had to. I could not run, climb, or lift. So I took time off. Over the past few months I've worked out a little but nothing like I use to. I keep promising to get on an even keel and work out at a healthy, less driven and yet equally advantageous level. But everytime I start something goes wrong and I start feeling the old symptoms. So I quit. I have become a couch potato without a couch. (The kids occupy that spot.)

So today when I got the results of the blood test I didn't think I'd be surprised. But I was. I was REALLY surprised. Since reading the numbers I swear I can hear my blood as it oozes through my veins. If I cut myself I'm quite certain I'll clot quickly. Shouldn't be a problem. As a matter-of-fact, I think I'd probably clot if you cut my juggler vein. I am considering draining all of my blood, skimming the fat off the top, and putting it back in. Shouldn't be too hard.

This is where the symmetry problem comes in. My cholesterol is 311. That's three hundred and eleven if you don't do numbers. But my triglycerides just laugh at that number. You see, it comes in at a nice and tidy 1111. Again, that is one thousand one hundred and eleven. 1111 is symmetrical. But it ceases to be if you put it either before or after the 311. You wind up with 3111111 or 1111311. That three just gets in the way. And I don't think I'm going to be able to get my cholesterol down to 111 anytime in the near future. So, for the sake of symmetry, I have no choice but to try to add another 3. I need my triclycerides to go from 1111 to 1113. Then my composite number can be 3111113. THAT, my friends, is symmetry.

And I'm going to make it happen. I might have already achieved it tonight. I decided to celebrate my statistics with dinner at my favorite restaurant, Cannolli's. I really got them to dish it up! I started with fresh baked bread dipped in olive oil with parmesian cheese and pepper. I polished off a salad with more cheese and french dressing. Next was a nice hot bowl of pizza soup. I didn't put the pepperoni or the sausage on the napkin either! My main course was... get ready... a lovely plump Calzone. I finished off the evening with the restaurants namesake... a triple chocolate Cannolli. Yum!

I don't suppose I'll ever really know if I made it to 31111113. I started on another lovely pill tonight. It's your basic anti-fat-in-your-bloodstream-causing-massive-cardiac-arrest drug. I added it to my already formidable arsenol of meds. I'm starting to like pills more than ice cream.

Well, it's late and I need to go to bed. I use to hear my heart beat sometimes when it was really quiet late at night. Now I hear this oozing sound. I wonder if it has any significance. Nah...