About a month ago I was going out to see friends and felt a little off, so I decided to get a COVID rapid test just to be sure I was fine. I went to the local COVID testing place. When this is all over, I wonder if we’ll remember the local COVID testing place: usually the storefront of a business that failed because of COVID that has been turned into empty white room with generic homewares.
Even though I only wanted a rapid test, the nurse still took my vitals, temperature and blood pressure. For my blood pressure, she used a machine: one of those set-it-and-forget-it ones where they put the cuff on your arm, it inflates on its own, and gives a digital reading.
When it was done, she said, “whoa.”
I don’t think I’ve ever gone to the doctor, had my blood pressure checked and not been asked, “are you nervous?” because the reading was high.
But this nurse got me on FaceTime with a doctor. She asked if I had “white coat syndrome,” meaning, do I have an elevated reading because I get nervous at the doctor?
Sure. I mean I get nervous everywhere, so what?
She recommended I visit my primary care physician and perhaps get medication for hypertension. (The rapid test was negative by the way.)
I don’t recall what readings had been in the past – before this episode, I never remembered what a normal reading was supposed to be – but they were always high but never high enough for a doctor to mention medication.
If there’s one consolation to this latest health scare, it’s that I’m starting to see the predictable pattern of my manic hypochondria. Frankly, I’m even getting a little sick of my compulsion to freak out about every single thing.
Of course, I started googling. I found out that the normal blood pressure was 120/80. Mine was 150/82. If you have a blood pressure of 180/120 and it goes untreated, there’s a high possibility that you will die within ten months. High blood pressure leads to heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease (not sure how it leads to kidney disease but I’ll just let that be a mystery for now).
The thing that really had me worried was that I had already done the things that you’re supposed to do if you want to lower your blood pressure. Quit smoking. Done. Did it three and a half years ago (over seven if you exclude my nine month relapse after getting dumped). Exercise. Yup. I run over a hundred miles a month. Lose weight. Check. Lost over twenty pounds four years ago and have kept it off.
Despite that, I still had high blood pressure.
There are some things I haven’t done. I have not limited alcohol or reduced sodium. But, honestly, can you die from beer and quesadillas consumed in excess during a pandemic?
I decided to check my blood pressure at home. I went to CVS for a monitor. The wrist monitor was cheaper, so I bought that. I got a reading of 172/90.
I went into full panic mode. Looking for a Hail Mary, I went back to google. “Accuracy of wrist blood pressure monitors.” Answer: less accurate than upper arm. Alright, cool. I’ll take it.
It stayed on my mind and when I went in to see my new primary care doctor for the first time, I did breathing exercises in the waiting area. The nurse and the doctor took my blood pressure manually and it was better. High but better. The doctor recommended I monitor at home and then we could discuss the possibility of medication.
My mind went to some dark and existential places over this. The thought occurred to me that I had essentially discovered the cause of my death. And that’s if I’m lucky. I’ll be able to die of heart disease if I don’t get killed with a stray bullet, get hit by a truck, get cancer, or get whatever virus is in the next pandemic.
How is my life going to change now? I mean there’s really no denying that I am currently very middle aged. I mean blood pressure medication?
How much am I going to have to give up as I go on? If I can’t have simple pleasures like beer and food, is life worth living? This then prompts the thought, “am I living for beer and junk food?” How pathetic is that?
This might kill me but when? How long will I live? How long do I want to live? How good a quality of life will I have in my eighties, nineties or above? How bad will climate change be by then? Will I even have enough money to live? What if I need a nurse or something? I won’t have any children or a wife to take care of me.
The inside of one’s own mind can often be a horrifying place.
But when the dust of nightmare scenarios settled, I was left with the core fears that I always have with a new medical condition, whether it’s HPV, foot drop, or even a cough or a common cold. Will I have this forever? And was this my fault?
I also have this deep down childish feeling that this shouldn’t be happening to me. Sure, this is common but bad things are for other people, not me. If I had just done something better in my past or if I start acting right in the future, I can fix it.
But I can’t. I asked my doctor, “should I limit sodium?” He kind of shrugged his shoulders and said sure, if you want. “What about alcohol?” Well, it doesn’t help, he said, but he was more concerned about its effect on my anxiety.
My father had high blood pressure. I think my mother did too. It affects a third of people my age and older. It’s very treatable.
I tried another monitor, an upper arm one. Those readings were high and freaked me out as well. I took it to my doctor and he measured it while I used the electronic meter. It was way off. “Yeah, sorry, they’re supposed to be better than that. Can you return it?”
I had already returned the first wrist monitor after having opened it, I didn’t have the guts to return another one, so, I decided to eat the cost. Guilt, unlike hypertension, is most likely purely environmental and I know exactly where it comes from. Thanks Mom and the Catholic Church!
“So, look,” he said, “we’ve taken your blood pressure in the office twice and it’s been high both times. We can wait for a third data point if you’d like but the signs are pointing to medication.”
By this point, I had come to another familiar point in my hypochondriacal journey: acceptance.
“Yeah, I think I should start on it.”
I have friends with diabetes, friends with Crohn’s Disease, things that are much more life altering and serious, and they manage it and they live and they’re fine.
When I started taking Lexapro – a medication that I do, in fact, expect to be on forever – I bought one of those plastic daily pill containers because I always kept forgetting if I took it that day. The container was a good way to keep track. I always associated those containers with old people who need lots of medication. I just added another 5 milligram pill for each day. I imagine I’ll add more and more as time goes on, until I become one of those old people.
But for now I’m managing and I’m living and I’m fine.
