This morning, the doctor told me that the results for my latest blood tests were in and that everything looked good.
But, “Your cholesterol’s a bit high. It’s at 122, the average is 120.”
I gave her the ‘fuckyoutalkin’about’ look, and she proceeded to tell me about elevated lipid counts and said a bunch of numbers like 01.120imanasshole021 — something to that effect. And then she told me that my bad cholesterol was high. I gave her the ‘you’vegottabeshittingme’ look, when what I really wanted to do was punch her in the throat and laugh.
“Did you eat before you came in that day?”
Um, everyone’s instructed to not eat after midnight before the blood tests.
“Do you eat a lot of fatty foods?”
Not to my knowledge, no. Unless my mom feeds me lard intravenously in my sleep.
“Do you exercise?”
Like, practically every day?
Of course my answers sounded more like, “No. No. Yes.” — Jus’ sayin’. There’s a reason why I’m looking at you incredulously.
“You’re gonna have to change your diet.”
What’s funny is that I had tests done about two months before the most recent ones and everything was butter. My diet hasn’t changed in a year — but, if anything, I’ve been eating much better.
Then I took the train to work and thought about how I spent six hours drinking last night, and how my mom thinks I drink too much.
I never thought I’d be sitting here, googling tips for reducing my cholesterol instead of doing work to try and meet a deadline at the age of 23. Life is funny like that. Next thing you know, I’ll be able to predict the weather with my knees.
My mother’s phone calls to her older friends and relatives are amusingly predictable:
Mom: Hello? Hello? Helloooo? HELLOOOO? Can you hear me? Hello? Did you eat? Did you eat? Yeah, but did you eat yet? I said, did you eat? Are you eating? DID – YOU – EAT – YET?
I don’t want to get old. I used to think people were silly for not wanting to get old because, well, such is life: you get old and you die. But as I grow older, those around me do so as well and it’s quite terrifying to see the transformations. Growing old, even gracefully, is by no means pretty. What happens is, people basically rot from the inside out–and sometimes from the outside in, too. Everything rusts, slows down, decomposes, and fails. A less morbid way to put it would be, your joints hurt, your heart beats slower, your muscles turn to flab, and you die.
It’s inevitable. It’s so inevitable, in fact, that I’m starting to wonder if there’s a point in dreading it.
After leaving the supermarket with my mom tonight, we sat down on a low ledge along the pavement to wait for the bus. The sun was getting ready to set and the warm breeze blew steadily as we watched the car go by. I like sitting outside quietly during summer evenings; there’s something strangely comforting about the golden light of the setting sun.