I had what was supposed to be a quick visit to the doctor this morning. And I suppose you could say the actual visiting with the doctor portion was rather quick; it was just the whole waiting to actually be face to face with him part that dragged on for 45 minutes. I was really only there because I needed to see him in order to get the prescription for my blood pressure medication extended, but he must have been really proud of the examining room I was waiting in, because I had time to soak in every last ounce of ambiance in it.
And after all that time, he told me he thought it was time to drop the medication. Now on the one hand, I waited around for almost an hour to get this refilled when I could have just not bothered, run out of the stuff, and gotten the same result. And this happened right when a generic version was finally available. Got to enjoy it for all of two bottles after seven years of paying fifty bucks a pop.
But on the other hand — did I mention I no longer need to take blood pressure medication? There was a time when my blood pressure would regularly read 140/110. My eye doctor — my eye doctor, people — told me she could have me admitted to the emergency room off of one of the readings she took. I was 240 pounds and heading for a wheezy, flabby death. And now things are at the point where I medical professional no longer thinks I need medicinal assistance not to die. He even told me I probably don’t have to worry about losing any more weight. Some of my shirts are telling me otherwise, but who am I to argue with my doctor? Well, aside from the whole having to sit around waiting thing, that is.
I don’t think it’ll really sink in until tomorrow morning when I don’t have to take that pill. I’ll probably feel a little nervous, since it’s been part of my routine for so long. And I’m sure I’ll cringe a little when it comes time for the first few blood pressure checks now that I’m stopping. But not having to cut the pills in half anymore? Not tasting that nasty, powdery, medicinal yuck every day? Oh I am going to have no problem with that at all.
I’m not going to get cocky and start acting like that’s it, I’m done, back to beer and chicken wings. I have no intention of undoing all this. But it’s great to have what feels like an exclamation point on this sentence I’ve been writing for the last few years. So maybe a celebratory Sam Adams or two might be in order this weekend. I’ll sacrifice a few brain cells for this occasion.