So far Movember is going well…for my husband. His stache is filling in rather nicely, if you like the porn star look. As I sit here, wiping the sleep from my eyes, blowing my nose, and feeling an all over sense of ick, I can’t say my Movember has started off with a bang. My commitment, though made in earnest, is hobbling pathetically along, stopping frequently to pull up socks and catch its breath.
All hope of a healthy “No-phelgm-ber” have been dashed. My son, covered in a thin film of Vicks VapoRub and cold sweat, crawled into bed with me last night. He coughed and thrashed around and coughed some more. I got about eleven minutes of sleep.
I know this is a blip. We’ll rid this house of these vile germs and start fresh on Monday. I can’t give up on this, on me.
I matter to people. Specifically, the little people who live in my house and the guy with the porno stache.
I made a commitment to get healthy and fit, a “commfitment” if you will. I know, I know, what’s with the lame, clearly made up terms? I can’t help it.
I had a scare recently, one that took hold of me and shook me awake, hard. I’ve been experiencing this spacey, not-quite-there feeling for months. It doesn’t happen often, but even for a few minutes, living in a haze with everything just slightly out of focus is disconcerting.
At first I thought it was a virus. I soon discovered my blood pressure was high. Like, “Please print this reading and take it to the pharmacist” kind of high. I’m not sure if that’s the culprit, but it’s not a good situation either way and I need to get it under control.
At forty-one, it’s within the realm of possibility that something could happen to me. High blood pressure runs in my family. My mom is on BP medication and my grandfather had hypertension and died at a young age.
And my grandma – I remember her saying from time to time that she had a “funny head.” But then she’d say in her Scottish accent, “Ah, rubbish. I don’t have time for this,” and she’d carry on. I only found out recently that she too was on blood pressure medication. For some unknown reason, her doctor took her off the meds. Shortly after, she died from a stroke. She was barely seventy.
I want to be around for a long time. Not only to take care of my family, but to enjoy them. I have an appointment with my doctor next week. We’re going to look at BP meds and talk about how to safely ease back into exercise. It makes me nervous to work out hard, with my funny head. I can’t help but imagine my blood pressure rising exponentially with every lunge and squat, and like a pressure cooker with the lid screwed on too tight, my head will suddenly launch off my shoulders in a mighty explosion. What? It could happen. It’s hard work living life with an over active imagination…
