Requiem for Milkfat
I went to the doctor this week.
That probably isn't that big a deal for many people, but it had been 11 years since I went to the doctor (not including one brief visit to the student health clinic at WWU a few years ago). And, I was kinda terrified what I was going to find out.
It all started with a little hypochondria. Starting a few weeks back, there was this intermittent shooting, prickly pain across the left side of my chest. I convinced myself I had angina and was dying. But, I have the kind of hypochondria that lives in denial, so I didn't say anything about it. I did, however, cut caffeine out completely, radically cut down on smoking (from probably 3 to 4 packs per week to maybe five cigarettes per week and many non-smoking days), started eating better, and woke myself up at five some mornings to take a walk. And, I made a doctor's appointment.
Before the appointment ever came around, I figured out I didn't have angina. I put so much stress into the muscles of my neck and shoulders that they were pulling against my pecs. A damn good massage from a LMP friend cleared it pretty well up.
But, really, I'm 34 and laden with vice, and am going to need a referral for the snip-snip I want anyway, so I kept my appointment (as well as the no caffeine, diminished smoking and such). And, despite the angina phantom dissipating, I was still scared of what he might tell me.
Day of the appointment, I was sweating it. I answered all the nurses questions honestly (yes, ma'am, I am vice-laden) and mentioned the history of minor-but-eventually-exacerbated heart conditions in my family. So, she gave me an EKG, and the doctor came in.
I'm too young to need his finger in my ass just yet, but I was measured and prodded and my testicles hefted to and fro. The only bad thing I heard through the entire visit was my weight, which cracked 200 for the first time. But, my blood pressure was low, my EKG looked fine, and the doc told me I had the resting heart rate of an athlete. They took some blood and piss and sent me merrily on my way.
And, really, I was riding pretty high. That little angina scare had woken me up, improved a few habits, and was now a thing of the past.
The next day, however, I had to call in for test results. My exuberant mood crashed.
My cholesterol is 220. Not quite to the "here's your heart pills, dear" level, but squarely in the middle of the "time to clean up your act, dipshit" range.
This surprised me, and pissed me off. Because, I rarely eat red meat, or much meat at all for that matter. We are (forgive us, ~A~) a soy-heavy house, and I sneak as much fish in as I can when my wife isn't looking. I'm not a lover of fruit, but am a lover of vegetables (have yet to meet one I don't like), and eat mainly whole grains and always have.
No, don't jump in, you don't have to tell me because I know. It is eggs and cheese and butter.
I'm willing to make egg white omelettes and buy reduced-fat cheese, but this butter thing is total bullshit. That is the loss that cuts deepest.
When I moved out of the familial homestead, the first thing I did was switch to real butter. We were margarine-only, and I hated that, hated the barely-meltable Country Crock asscheese-in-a-tub, or the I Can't Believe It's Not Asscheese nonsense that always produced oily belches.
My father's house (my parents divorced when I was one and both remarried) had butter, and it was just one of the many bits of exoticism I enjoyed on weekends and summer breaks (along with cable TV and sugary cereal with toys inside). To this day, though mine has been a butter house for 16 years now, the taste and smell of butter reminds me of my dad's house (as does sulphur, because they lived on a mountain over Ithaca, NY and the wells were all sulphur, but that's another story).
I'm gonna miss butter, and feel a little cheated. Granted, any time I try and claim that I take fairly good care of myself my liver just chuckles derisively, but still, this was not the problem I foresaw. What I eat has rarely been the issue, at least not so much as what I drink or setb on fire and inhale.
Now I've got my SmartBalance spread, and my nonfat yogurt vegetable dip. I guess I should just be happy they don't come with a side of angina and heart pills.
I'm still gonna cheat every now and again damnit, because if I've eaten my last flank steak, then, well, life ain't barely worth livin'. Sure going to miss that butter, tho'.
That probably isn't that big a deal for many people, but it had been 11 years since I went to the doctor (not including one brief visit to the student health clinic at WWU a few years ago). And, I was kinda terrified what I was going to find out.
It all started with a little hypochondria. Starting a few weeks back, there was this intermittent shooting, prickly pain across the left side of my chest. I convinced myself I had angina and was dying. But, I have the kind of hypochondria that lives in denial, so I didn't say anything about it. I did, however, cut caffeine out completely, radically cut down on smoking (from probably 3 to 4 packs per week to maybe five cigarettes per week and many non-smoking days), started eating better, and woke myself up at five some mornings to take a walk. And, I made a doctor's appointment.
Before the appointment ever came around, I figured out I didn't have angina. I put so much stress into the muscles of my neck and shoulders that they were pulling against my pecs. A damn good massage from a LMP friend cleared it pretty well up.
But, really, I'm 34 and laden with vice, and am going to need a referral for the snip-snip I want anyway, so I kept my appointment (as well as the no caffeine, diminished smoking and such). And, despite the angina phantom dissipating, I was still scared of what he might tell me.
Day of the appointment, I was sweating it. I answered all the nurses questions honestly (yes, ma'am, I am vice-laden) and mentioned the history of minor-but-eventually-exacerbated heart conditions in my family. So, she gave me an EKG, and the doctor came in.
I'm too young to need his finger in my ass just yet, but I was measured and prodded and my testicles hefted to and fro. The only bad thing I heard through the entire visit was my weight, which cracked 200 for the first time. But, my blood pressure was low, my EKG looked fine, and the doc told me I had the resting heart rate of an athlete. They took some blood and piss and sent me merrily on my way.
And, really, I was riding pretty high. That little angina scare had woken me up, improved a few habits, and was now a thing of the past.
The next day, however, I had to call in for test results. My exuberant mood crashed.
My cholesterol is 220. Not quite to the "here's your heart pills, dear" level, but squarely in the middle of the "time to clean up your act, dipshit" range.
This surprised me, and pissed me off. Because, I rarely eat red meat, or much meat at all for that matter. We are (forgive us, ~A~) a soy-heavy house, and I sneak as much fish in as I can when my wife isn't looking. I'm not a lover of fruit, but am a lover of vegetables (have yet to meet one I don't like), and eat mainly whole grains and always have.
No, don't jump in, you don't have to tell me because I know. It is eggs and cheese and butter.
I'm willing to make egg white omelettes and buy reduced-fat cheese, but this butter thing is total bullshit. That is the loss that cuts deepest.
When I moved out of the familial homestead, the first thing I did was switch to real butter. We were margarine-only, and I hated that, hated the barely-meltable Country Crock asscheese-in-a-tub, or the I Can't Believe It's Not Asscheese nonsense that always produced oily belches.
My father's house (my parents divorced when I was one and both remarried) had butter, and it was just one of the many bits of exoticism I enjoyed on weekends and summer breaks (along with cable TV and sugary cereal with toys inside). To this day, though mine has been a butter house for 16 years now, the taste and smell of butter reminds me of my dad's house (as does sulphur, because they lived on a mountain over Ithaca, NY and the wells were all sulphur, but that's another story).
I'm gonna miss butter, and feel a little cheated. Granted, any time I try and claim that I take fairly good care of myself my liver just chuckles derisively, but still, this was not the problem I foresaw. What I eat has rarely been the issue, at least not so much as what I drink or setb on fire and inhale.
Now I've got my SmartBalance spread, and my nonfat yogurt vegetable dip. I guess I should just be happy they don't come with a side of angina and heart pills.
I'm still gonna cheat every now and again damnit, because if I've eaten my last flank steak, then, well, life ain't barely worth livin'. Sure going to miss that butter, tho'.
posted by JJisafool at 10:02 AM
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