Another dreadful night of terrors and now I’m awake I have been scaring myself half to death reading about blood pressure online.
Nobody knows what causes high blood pressure and all the articles say there is nothing you can do about it once you have it.
But the contributing factors of smoking, being over-weight and lack of exercise are things I can do something about. So I am going to do my best and see what can be done in a few days.
Lots of research last night.
My principal goal is to lower my blood pressure, so what matters most?
Smoking, obviously. Apart from the night terrors, that is going surprisingly well. My biggest problem is a sense of loss I don’t know how to cope with. I want a smoke – I can’t have a smoke – I want something to cheer me up – I can’t have anything.
In the past I have tackled nicotine cravings by eating whatever I want. But I can’t this time. ….. Aghhhh!
Second after smoking is weight loss. No quick fixes here but I need to lose weight AND exercise, cos improving my fittest is the third most crucial issue.
But I am motivated and I’m really proud of myself for not smoking, so this gives me the strength to believe I can do more.
Another shaky walk around the park tonight and I felt like crying – I felt so old and pathetic.
I slept horribly. No cigarettes since yesterday morning before the doctor’s appointment.
The trouble I have with nicotine withdrawal is night terrors. They are indescribably terrifying.
Twenty minutes after falling asleep I wake with a scare that is at once the worst depression you can imagine, where you wish you were dead, coupled with the excruciating fear that you are, in fact, dead.
I can’t breathe,
my heart is pounding,
I am paralysed,
I am freezing cold,
I am burning up,
the world is ending
and it’s all my fault,
nothing can be saved,
no-one,
least of all me
– and I wake up with a screaming shudder.
Nothing logical about night terrors, which is why they are so terrifying.
In the past the night terrors have driven me to get up and have just a puff or two on a cigarette. I’m sure you can see that is why I never really manage to give up.
But not this time!
This time I am giving up EVERYTHING – tobacco, sugar, wheat, salt, coffee, alcohol, and over-eating, all at the same time, so I have decided not to use any nicotine substitutes. I want to do everything I can to lower my blood pressure before the dreaded 24 hour monitoring in 11 days time.
The doctor asked me yesterday how much I weighed and I vaguely answered “about a hundred kilos”. Kindly, she didn’t ask me to hop on the scales to confirm it, but I think the truth is more likely to be anywhere from 105 to 110.
Ok, well that’s just embarrassing.
But I am not buying scales. Too many sets of scales have been kicked across my bedroom and bathroom floors over the years; I know they depress me and demoralise me. I will lose weight, but I don’t think weighing myself will help.
I’m going for an 800 calorie a day diet, mainly because I know I won’t achieve that, but by aiming for I will possibly achieve 1,200 to 1,500.
Fruit or muesli or sugar free yoghurt for breakfast; salad with cheese or a poached egg for lunch; fish and salad for dinner; almonds for snacks.
Easy!
Except it’s not.
And I am totally distracted from any hope of working due to my constant craving for a ciggie!
I go for a walk.
I shake as I walk around the park on the next block. My legs wobble and the ground feels like the deck of a ship, bucking and swaying. My knees hurt and there is a sharp pain in my right hip.
I had intended to start easy with a gentle 20 minute walk. In less than 5 minutes I am home, feeling nauseous.
I sit down at the dining table and pray.
“Oh God, help me!
Heal me!
I know you love me, so heal me, please!”
But this is all wrong.
It’s not God’s fault I am in this mess. He is certainly there to help me, but the responsibility is mine; I got myself into this and I must get myself out.
My prayer changes:
“Dear God, you gave me this precious vessel for my soul and I have treated is with no respect.
I am so sorry!
Please help me and guide me on my journey to restore it to health as a vessel fit for your service
– Amen”
A spot on my arm is freaking me out.
A fortnight ago it was just one of those round, slightly brownish, shiny spots commonly known as liver-spots.
It is about halfway up my right forearm and about the size of a pea. Nothing much really, but in my vanity I dabbed at it with peroxide, thinking to lighten it a bit.
Instead, it’s flared up into an angry, red welt and is not getting better. Friends tell me to see a doctor, so I do.
I never, ever go to the doctor if I can avoid it.
The last time was over 3 years earlier when she gave me a referral to see a gastroenterology, which I never used. There was a six week waiting list to see the specialist and my problem cleared up, so I never bothered.
Before that I hadn’t been top the doctor for about 10 years.
So that gives some indication of how much this little spot was bothering me.
Well, she took a good look at it using a magnifying glass and declared it to be burned and infected, issuing a prescription for some cream.
Phew! Nothing to worry about after all.
So, to make the visit worthwhile I asked her to check my blood pressure. She checked it once and said “shit!”. Not a particularly reassuring thing to hear from your GP.
Telling me to sit back and take some deep breaths, she took it again and said she was “alarmed”.
160 over 90.
That’s high. That is “alarmingly high” apparently.
My doctor wants me to do a 24 hour BP monitoring as soon as possible. I’m in a bit of a blur now. I need bloods done immediately too.
The nurse taking my blood is very nice and I rather fall apart with her, bursting into tears. I’ve not had a serious health issue before and this is very scary.
In the end, it turns out that I must wait until 11 Dec before a BP monitor is free.
I leave feeling like a ticking time-bomb, ready to explode at any moment.
My husband is at work so I decide to wait until lunch time to call him. I have my theology class in the afternoon and its the final for the year, so I think that will distract me and support me until he gets home.
Meanwhile, oh God, how did it come to this?
I smoke, I over-eat, I’m fat (really fat), I drink too much too often and I get no exercise at all.
OK, I know how it came to this.
It’s fair to say I am subdued in the afternoon class; so much so that people ask me if I am alright. I’m really not.
160 over 90? Oh, that’s nothing, some say. Just take the pills and you’ll be fine, others say.
But no. I am 57 years old and I’m not resigning to the ravages of time just yet. I am going to turn my life and my health around!
Nobody believes me, least of all my husband.