Cuffed again, in Baldwin Park

My whole BP thing began way back in 1988 after NBA Hall of Famer Pete Maravich collapsed playing pickup basketball in Pasadena; half his coronary arteries were congenitally missing. I was concerned about persistent upper body soreness that existed only when I wasn’t exercising; so, I got it checked out. My blood pressure level was great, but I insisted on a treadmill test; my primary care guy was disgusted and grudgingly set it up. It was too late, paranoia had set in. I did the treadmill and near the end of the test, I thought I was going to leave my teeth on the horizontal hand bar at the head of the speeding belt and steep incline. When I got off the machine and got my results, the soreness totally disappeared. I was shocked by the way my mind could lobby for fear and generate physical symptoms. I implemented stretching and hydration and thought I’d never look back.

Years later, I visited a new doctor who’d been recommended by my mom’s endocrinologist (who was amazing.) I don’t remember the weigh-in, but I do recall my shrinking was well under way and confirmed. And even Tom Cruise elevator shoes weren’t going to get me back to 5’10.”

The nurse took my blood pressure and asked, “How long have you had hypertension?” My response, “When did we meet?” The nurse also asked about my family background. When I shared that both parents had suffered type II diabetes, she opined I’d probably be diagnosed with the disease as well (not yet). What a fun visit! And I was expecting good news! Then, a miracle: the new doctor was very cool; told me to buy the BP machine his office used (from Costco) and return in two weeks. I returned and brought in my logged numbers. My blood pressure was fine, and I wasn’t diabetic. I didn’t have to be told to continue logging in my numbers. I was now a number pushing Poindexter fanatic.

I commenced monitoring my blood pressure AM and PM every day on legal paper (my out of character obsessive-compulsive episodes could crop up without warning. Fortunately, my OCD never involved memorizing dental insurance codes.) But I think I was just possessed to prove I was elite at something during any self-perceived hard times. I recorded my blood pressure and pulse readings every morning and basked in the afterglow of the low numbers; it was like a daily morale builder to help get things rolling.

Admittedly, I became complacent and cocky about my numbers. After years of digit addiction, I began taking one of my strengths for granted; I was entitled to my Olympian numbers. The legal pads didn’t lie.

2019 was a hard year. We’d physically expanded our office in 2018 and signed up for an expensive year of training for 2019; it was an absolute disaster. We’d invested in all kinds of clinical and business systems’ training over the years; I was hoping to add some complimentary structure for our systems that would make all the difference. The program morphed into transformation mode. Our first coach lasted about a month; the second was a drill sergeant. I was concerned even restroom visits would eventually need revised scripting.

December and the last working day of 2019 finally arrived. I visited my chiropractor at the end of a long day (part of my maintenance program.) Practicing dentistry can be like daily fitting your head, neck, and back into a hollow pretzel.

The chiropractor said it was time for an exam; he said my blood pressure was high and my Oxygen saturation in the 80s (I knew that wasn’t true because I could still stand, walk, and talk.) I went straight home and got the same BP readings. It turned out, the numbers climbed as I drove myself straight to Kaiser Permanente, Baldwin Park. After about 6 hours in the ER, my blood pressure was back to normal; so were all the lab tests. And a mind is a terrible thing to over-use.

In January 2020, I followed up with my primary care doctor who’s a past-Chief of Internal Medicine. When I showed the doctor my legal pads and numbers, he shook his head, smiled, said "Really?" and predicted I would have hypertension if I continued the OCD route. A few weeks later, the pandemic arrived. My next visit happened March 1, 2023.

Don’t know about you guys, but during the past three years, I visited Kaiser on a Covid-19 vaccination and emergency basis only. Who needs to check in to see your physician about how you’re doing during a viral pandemic? I tested positive for Covid for a week in June 2022 after experiencing light allergy-type symptoms for two days. And I’m grateful my case was minimal, as well as my overthinking.

During my three-year absence, my cholesterol count had risen and, predictably, it took multiple efforts to get a reasonably acceptable blood pressure result. I might be an early Boomer, but I’d never taken a prescription drug on a regular basis. I negotiated a short leash trial for blood pressure and started with a statin for high cholesterol (the French would’ve laughed.) I stopped all alcohol intake, began intermittent fasting, walked an average 15,000 steps per day, and carried my golf clubs 9-18 holes three days a week. Things didn’t improve as quickly as I would’ve liked; I lobbied for another two weeks and was impressed with the results. I was scheduled for repair surgery in the summer, so when my Doc suggested prescribing the lightest dose of blood pressure medicine, I conceded. I wanted to do whatever I could to retain a strong relationship with my primary care doc, the surgeon, and the robot.

The results have been awesome. The numbers are once again Olympian. I’ve lost 15 pounds. I remain 5’9.”

Last Friday I started the day at 111/68, pulse 54. I’d indulged my biweekly deepish chair massage and had the usual post-massage soreness around the shoulders and neck (the dentist zone.) Later in the day, I read a FB post from a year ago by Golden State Warriors’ coach Steve Kerr. Kerr’s emotional share addressed his outrage over children and teachers being gunned down in Uvalde while half the Senate refused to do their job. Then I took my afternoon BP.

The systolic was higher than I expected. I continued taking my blood pressure, even as it rose. I drove myself to Kaiser where they eventually put me up for a couple of hours. The numbers came down, but not where I liked. The tests were all negative.

Next morning, the numbers were Olympian again. I walked the golf course, carried my bag, let some bad shots temporarily add to my systolic pressure, and moved my overthinking outdoors and into the usual 18 holes of second guessing and a place where overthinking has been comfortable for years.

Is it just me, or do you guys also have opinionated alter egos that like to see you think way too much…and sweat?