Few things rattle the psyche like an unsolicited call from your doctor’s office. This is especially true if you already have an appointed scheduled a few weeks hence. The kindly gentleman on the other end of the line said, “Your test results are in and the doctor would like to see you to discuss them.” GULP.
“Well,” I said as I wondered who would attend my funeral, “I have an appointment in two weeks, do I need to reschedule? Or, does she need to see me right now before I die from the tumor that is assuredly growing in my brain?”
“Umm, it can probably wait until your appointment.”
Probably, huh? “Can you do me a favor and fax those results to me right now. I’d like to see what I am dying from.”
A few minutes later, I was in full Google mode as I tried to read the doctor’s note scribbled on the bottom of the page. It said something like, “Have patient schedule (some doctor writing that I can’t understand) to discuss (underlined word that looks like pending death.)”
I was particularly concerned about my PSA score, which somehow or other has to do with prostate health. Since my dad had prostate cancer I figured this is what would do me in. Thankfully that was fine. To be sure, the doctor will fist me in a few weeks under some bright lights in the exam room while I whimper. She is such a romantic.
My carbon dioxide (aka carbon footprint), albumin and alkaline phosphatase are fine. Also, my BUN (really, in caps on the report) is well within range, clocking in at a respectable 16 mg/dL.
At the bottom of the page is where the fun started, with a few “HIGH’s” under the “Flag” column. All were related to cholesterol, including a quite troubling LDL (Lower Damn Lipids, I think) score which would make a great IQ, but is pretty crappy in terms of mg/dL.
I have been teetering around with this high cholesterol BS for the better part of a year. It has been close to high but never really high, so I was to eat oatmeal and low-fat foods. Try to do that during football season – or hockey season, or baseball season, or during the summer or winter months. Suffice to say, oatmeal is one thing, turning away a plate of wings quite another.
In two weeks, after the kind doctor and I are spooning on the exam table after my violation, I am thinking she will ever so kindly whisper in my ear, “Lipitor, darling.”