I don’t usually write about my health and such. The reader already has enough to think about. I would not have said anything now, except my news is good and, since my sweet Jeannette passed away, I live alone and I wanted to share this report with someone.
A few of my readers may have been diagnosed as having blood pressure high enough to need pills. My story might help someone who is on the fence.
If you do need pills, I vote for you. However, pills are not always the answer. Most important and, no matter what the doctor tells you, we should question any medical diagnosis or treatment before blind acceptance.
Two weeks ago I drove to the VA Hospital in San Francisco to get an MRI of my heart. It turned out my heart was OK but what happened before the MRI is part of my story. They checked my blood pressure (which they always do for every patient). It was 182/90.
For those (like me) who have to be reminded, the first number is the systolic pressure. The second number is the diastolic pressure and the third number is the pulse rate. Anything above 140 systolic is a little high but it is always high when I visit a doctor.
I was told that was true of all patients. It is called, the “White Coat Reaction.”
“Take it again,” I told the nurse.
She did. By then I was starting to relax. It had dropped to 140/ 80. That’s still high but I had run out of time and the MRI was ready to go. The two readings zipped through the Internet from San Francisco to the clinic in Ukiah and my doctor called me for an appointment.
“You appear to have high blood pressure,” I was told.
Here’s the second part of my story. A week ago I cut down a dead tree. It wasn’t very big but the logs were heavy enough to fill two wheelbarrows.
I hauled the brush away to my brush pile and left the logs for the next day.
Next morning, as soon as I was awake and before I had my breakfast oatmeal, I went down the hill to the logs. The wheelbarrow was loaded and I wheeled it up the hill to a pile in my front yard.
I intended to chop the logs into firewood. I made a second trip for the rest of the logs and brought them up like the first load.
By this time, I was ready to rest and have my oatmeal. Before I did that, at 6:45 a.m., I took my blood pressure. It was 163/90. I expected that. I had been working hard. Going up the hill at my age and just walking is hard work, wheeling 100 pounds of logs is worse.
I relaxed and, at 6:55 a.m., I took my blood pressure a second time. It was 115/70.
Because I have worked hard all my life doing physical work, could it be that the heart responds to hard work — or any fight or flight situation — by pumping blood through the works at a greater pressure?
Finally, here’s the conclusion. For the first time in my life, I had writer’s cramp. My left thumb stopped working. It felt like there was sand in the thumb joint. Whatever was happening, it hurt.
At the time I did not stop to consider I had been writing since 6 a.m. and it was 3 in the afternoon when the pain made me notice. The pain grew, steadily worse and at 2 a.m., unable to sleep, I got dressed with one hand and drove my Jeep the 2 miles to the Sutter Lakeside Hospital Emergency Room.
The nurse took my blood pressure. It was high;156/90.
In 10 minutes he came back.
“Take it again, please,” I said.
He did and this time it was 116/ 60. The doctor prescribed a mild pain killer and I went home to catch up on my sleep.
When I called the doctor’s assistant, and told her what happened she said, “Take your blood pressure every morning and give the Doctor a report.”
I did. In order, the numbers are; diastolic, systolic and pulse. All good.
7/3/16: 110/56/60
7/4/16: 108/70/65
7/5/16: 108/68/59
7/6/16: 116/55/52
7/7/16: 119/68/59
I am not so pig headed that I refuse to listen to reason. I will take pills if I need them … but I don’t think I do.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
