The Ch-Word

I went in, convinced that I had diabetes.

My dad was diabetic: it was one of the few things that I knew about his health. In his final years, I learned that he had prostate cancer, but it was treatable.

But that's not what killed him.

He told my sisters and I that he had been hospitalized for some surgery on his heart. I've seen the scar down his chest. Apparently, he had a stint put in. It was his heart, in the end, that failed him, and he died at the age of 62.

I'll be that age in three years.

When I visited my doctor's office, in late June, I complained about a wound on the ball of my right foot that wasn't healing. A blister had broken through the tough flesh and made a berry-like growth underfoot. That growth was sensitive and was constantly bleeding.

I learned, through my physician, that coating the wound in antibiotic ointment and keeping it covered with a bandage was the worst thing for healing it. I was to give it air and keep it uncovered. And within a week, I saw a marked improvement.

To this day, I still have a scab and a callus-like buildup over the wound, but it's stopped bleeding and oozing.

I just have to be careful when I go kayaking.

At the end of the appointment, I was given orders for bloodwork. The doctor was concerned that the wound was taking so long to heal, despite my interference with the healing. She feared that I might be diabetic.

I went straight from the appointment to a nearby clinic, and within a half hour, I headed home, short a few vials of blood.

Last Friday, I had a follow-up appointment with my doctor. I was convinced that the news would be that I was diabetic. What would I do with this news? I mean, I felt fine.

Apart from my lungs, of course. They're still messed up.

While I waited in the examining room for the doctor to arrive, an assistant took my blood pressure. While the readings were normal, they were slightly elevated for me. I usually fall around 125 over 70.

The doctor started by saying that the news was "very bad." My heart sunk.

"Diabetes?" I asked.

She turned to the computer screen that showed my chart. "No, your blood-sugar levels are normal. But your cholesterol..."

I laughed. I literally laughed.

"What's so funny?" the doctor asked.

"When was the last time I had a blood test?"

She consulted my chart. "It's been more than five years."

"Exactly," I said. "I've been avoiding blood tests because I know my cholesterol is high. The last time I had blood work performed was when I had a different doctor."

When I first started going to this medical centre, I had a great doctor. She understood me. I don't make appointments unless I feel something is wrong with me, so when I went in to see her, she took my concerns seriously. When my left foot gave me problems, she investigated the possibilities and she even called me, on a Saturday afternoon, when she came up with what she thought was going on with my foot.

She was ultimately wrong in her diagnosis but she was oh, so close.

When she saw the results of my first bloodwork, she noticed that my cholesterol was high. My previous doctor, from another clinic, had prescribed me different sorts of statins to control the cholesterol. But I stopped taking the meds because

• the first drugs made my joints ache,
• the second set of meds made me feel run down, and
• the third prescription had me waking up every morning, feeling hung over and dehydrated.

I hated the side effects so I gave up taking meds, focused on my diet, and made sure I was getting enough exercise.

I told my new doctor this, and told her that I didn't want to take meds. She wasn't thrilled with this choice but she respected my decision.

When she moved to Toronto, I was heartbroken, but the medical centre quickly set me up with a new doctor. She's great too, but I didn't want to have the spiel about my bloodwork, so I always ignored the requisitions she wrote up for me.

I had gone many years without a blood test. My latest foot issue changed that. We were trying to rule out diabetes.

When I raised my concerns with my newest doctor, she still tried to convince me to go on meds. She said that the options for treating cholesterol have changed and there were drugs that had very few side effects. She put in an electronic prescription to my local pharmacy.

I haven't picked up the order and I don't really plan to. If the pharmacy calls, I'll tell them to cancel the order.

Granted, ever since my lungs have slowed me down, I haven't exercised as much as I used to. I've been on my bike only a few times. Also, because of the wound on my foot, I haven't gone for many walks and I've stopped marching in place while I'm on a video meeting for work.

I've gone kayaking almost every weekend, since late May, but that's not enough.

I've also indulged in snacks, though I gave up alcohol for the month of July.

Starting today, I'm going to get back into a healthier regime. I'm going to get back on my bike. Now that my foot is almost completely healed, I'm going to start walking again.

I'm going to work on my core, too.

DW has eliminated most snacks from the house, and I'll behave myself.

My goal, for decades, has been to live a healthier life than my dad lived. I'd like to surpass the age of 62.

Hell, I'm not planning to retire until I'm 63. I'd like to enjoy some time after then.