Aging in America
ICK!
The doctor’s office called today with the results of last Friday’s lipid panel: HDL 33 / LDL 202, Triglycerides 342. The woman calling told me, “The doctor says you are at very high risk for a heart attack … ” and proceeding to rattle off two new prescriptions I’m supposed to start on right away. Uhhhh… yeah, when I get the money for it. She got the name of the pharmacy filling my other Rx and said she would phone in the new ones. But she did say that these two new ones are most likely on the $4 formulary, so that’s a good thing, I guess.
But even so, I don’t have the money for that right now. In a few days I will.
But being told I’m at very high risk is bothersome, at best. Just the idea that I could have a heart attack at any minute is, to be quite frank, very distracting. And every itch and tingle has become “ohmahgawd is this IT?”
Which is totally stupid, of course, because nothing I do right now is going to much alter a potential heart attack 10 or 15 minutes from now. The idea is to get on the meds and then reduce the risk by the cumulative effect of sustained taking the meds. <*sigh*>
And it doesn’t help that my elder son dropped by last night to show off his latest woodworking project (a very lovely honey dipper from his new lathe–very cool), and we got to talking about his mother’s parents, who recently moved back to Texas to live with their youngest daughter up near Waco somewhere. Anyway, these are my former in-laws, so of course I am concerned. They’ve both become very frail, in their late 70s. I won’t divulge their specific health issues, but it is distressing for me just to be hearing about it, so I know it must be bothering my ex-wife to deal with it.
I do not want to get that frail. I definitely don’t want to go out the way either my parents did either. I would much rather just have a supermassive heart attack or something that takes me out the first time.
But in the meantime, I will take the meds to reduce the risk. After all, a half dozen knitters would be pissed if I weren’t around to dye yarns. They need me. And I need them to help cover the rent. 
