You go to a doctor\u2019s appointment and the first thing they do is check your blood pressure. Mine is always above the 150\/90 threshold. It\u2019s normally well below that, but not at the doctor\u2019s office. <\/p>\n
Of course it\u2019s high \u2013 here\u2019s why: a few days before my appointment I start reminding myself that on Friday, at 10 o\u2019clock, I have to be at the doctor\u2019s office. \u201cWill I remember on Friday that I have an appointment? Will I even know it is Friday? Old coots often don\u2019t know what day it is. \u201cWhat day is it?\u201d is a common question asked by retirees. When told it\u2019s Wednesday, we say, \u201cIt is? It feels like Tuesday.\u201d So, the stress of just trying to remember the appointment starts the blood pressure on an upward journey. <\/p>\n
Then comes the logistics: \u201cWhen should I leave the house? Will a traffic jam hold me up? Is there enough gas in the car?\u201d Stress! Stress! Stress! I don\u2019t want to get there too early and have to wait with a bunch of old coots that don\u2019t even know what day it is. I don\u2019t want to be late and forced to the end of the line. Thankfully I manage to get there on time, but it was a journey loaded with stress; the specter of lateness sat next to me in the passenger seat, taunting me with images of traffic jams, construction delays, and flat tires. <\/p>\n
I sit down and pat myself on the back when I get there on time, thinking, \u201cNow I can relax.\u201d But, no! I start wondering when my name will be called, if I have time to run to the restroom, and if I do, will they come for me when I\u2019m in there and think I left. The anxiety builds every time they call a name. Finally, they get to me; my blood pressure is through the roof. <\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you,\u201d the aide asks? \u201cStressed to the gills,\u201d I say to myself, but instead answer with a lie, \u201cJust great!\u201d They ask me my birth date; I get that one right. \u201cHow tall are you?\u201d I fumble with an answer, \u201cI don\u2019t know. I used to be 6\u20191\u201d, but I\u2019ve lost some height. Put me down for 5\u201911\u201d.\u201d They weigh me, another test I\u2019ll probably fail, but thankfully the scale registers in kilograms and I can\u2019t do the math. At this point, I don\u2019t care. <\/p>\n
Now I\u2019m in for it, escorted into the \u201cLittle Room\u201d and hooked up to a blood pressure sleeve. As it starts squeezing my arm I explain to the nurse that it\u2019s always high when I come here. She hardly pays attention. Then, my failure shows up on the screen, 153 over 73, not my normal 126 over 67. \u201cNo problem,\u201d the nurse says, \u201cI\u2019ll test it again after your exam.\u201d That gets it going even higher and it keeps going as I sit there waiting and waiting and waiting, wondering if I\u2019ve been forgotten. When the doctor comes in the first thing he scolds me about is my high blood pressure. <\/p>\n
I\u2019m not allowed to leave when he\u2019s finished; I have to wait for my blood pressure to be re-tested. So, I wait and wait and wait, scolding myself for not just getting up and going home. Finally, the nurse comes back and re-tests me. I fail, but not as bad as before. \u201cSit here for five minutes and then you can leave,\u201d she tells me. I wait four minutes and flee, regaining a small measure of self-respect. I\u2019ve come to the conclusion that going to the doctor, is bad for my health. <\/p>\n