Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting my doctor for my quarterly check-in. We get together regularly (honestly, it’s more like three times a year) to look over my latest labs and talk about all the lifestyle changes I need to make. It’s super fun.
Yesterday was a particularly fun visit. I just knew it would be, after all, I’d been under the weather for weeks on end, leaving me feeling lethargic and lazy. Exercise? Phooey. Fruits and veggies? Screw ‘em. Even taking my daily medication got to be a chore that I started to ignore on a fairly regular basis.
SO not good.
The first sign of trouble was at the scale.
The digital readout displayed a number I had never before seen on a scale with my own eyes. Oh crap. Apparently the combination of zero exercise and seemingly unlimited amounts of sweets does not go unnoticed by that contraption. Go figure.
Then there was the blood pressure.
Yeah, I guess the medication does work best if you actually get it out of the bottle and into your body. It works even better if you don’t sabotage it at every turn.
Now mind you I still hadn’t seen the doctor, this was just the prep. The good news is that my doctor rocks. He is kind, compassionate, has a sense of humor, and isn’t all judgy (yes, I know the proper word is judgmental, but I like this one better). Still, he is my doctor and it’s his unenviable task to tell me what a horrible job I’m doing taking care of this one and only body that I have.
He did it nicely. He did it with numbers. The numbers on the scale, the numbers from the blood pressure cuff, the numbers from the labs. Yes, folks, some of my numbers have actually set new personal records (not ones I was aiming for, by the way).
So here we are again, only this time I’m starting from even further away from “healthy” than I’ve ever been. I don’t want to do this. I want to eat, drink, and be merry. I don’t want to think about vitamins and blood pressure and steps taken and reducing risks of heart disease and diabetes and cancer and blah, blah, blah whatever else. I don’t want any of that burden, but for better or for worse, it’s mine.
Oh boo hoo, poor little old me. I know, get over it. I got myself into this fix, so I have to get out of it. Besides, I don’t actually have diabetes or heart disease or cancer (my poor Dad, of blessed memory, had to contend with all three of those). What I do have is another whack in the face with the giant two by four of reality. The reality of the situation is that I’m doing myself a grave disservice by ignoring my health (pun intended, sorry). I need to snap out of it and take care of myself the way I deserve. So, on we go to attempt number 8,413, or, as I like to call it, time to crawl out of the gutter and climb onto the victors’ podium.