Okay, so I shared with you that I went to the local doc recently to get myself a new prescription of happy pills, but what I forgot to mention was that while I was there I had them draw blood to test for a few more serious things: Diabetes (which runs in my family and everyone is scaring me about), thyroid, cholesterol, etc. The results came back that I’m fine, other than the fact that my cholesterol is sky high. I kinda figured that was coming, because everything I cook is soaked in real butter. Yeah, I know, but that’s how my late mother cooked before anyone worried about that kind of thing. The doctor told me I needed to lower it, and said that I’d have to start eating a low fat diet, and lay off the pastries. Lay off pastries? ((NOOOOO!!!))
I’d spent the better part of the other morning trying to look up information on High Cholesterol and the diet I need to follow to lower it, and even prepared a somewhat healthy meal for myself last night. I’ll be really honest, I think I’m going to end up dying from a stroke or something, cause I just don’t see me being that diligent and/or being able to give up my goodies. I practically live on Pepsi and chocolate. And don’t even get me started on cheese. Melted cheese on anything and everything is my weakness.
This unhealthy diet I’ve been following for years is not entirely my fault. I learned to cook from my mother, and she kept a container of bacon grease on the stove, if that gives you any idea where this is going. Diet and low-fat weren’t words I ever heard used in our home. Nor have I in all the years since ever had to worry about such a thing. I bore three children and still managed to keep my weight at 112 lbs till I was forty-one years old. Even now I rarely hit 125. Why would I worry about it?
Apparently I’m finding out that it matters little what you look like on the outside, but rather what your poor eating habits can be doing to your insides. I’ve often laughed and said that there is a chubby woman struggling to get out of me, by the way that I fill my plates at all-you-can-eat buffets, and consume massive amounts of sweets, especially during, you know…that time of the month, but I never realized how true those words might be till now. You know what they say about “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings.” And for those of you that are miffed by that comment, it has to do with the end of an opera, so don’t blame me.
I think I liked things better when people didn’t know something was going to hurt them. They simply spent their life lounging around and eating whatever they wanted. Completely happy, and oblivious as hell to what was going on in their arteries till one day they just up and croaked. Now, in this new age of technology as they’re racing to try and keep you alive forever, I think quality of life is suffering because everything and anything is a no-no. That, and when you do indulge you’re burdened with guilt. What fun is that? And I also pose the question, “How long do any of us really want to live?” I’m sorry, I’ve been in nursing homes, and I’m not sure that’s where I want to end up. I have this horrifying picture in my head of my having to endure sponge baths by young folk, while they try to figure out what the tattoo on my back once was, since by then it will have faded and started to resemble watercolors in the rain on my wrinkled skin.((Eww!))
Alas, even though I suspect I would be better off just to ignore, indulge, and bring in the end the way it was meant to be, I’m human, and most of us have a survival instinct that prevents us from just looking the other way when it comes to our health. I guess if I don’t want to wind up being the fat lady that sings at the end of my soap-opera, I’d probably better jump on the fitness-band-wagon and start making more of an effort to watch my diet, and exercise, huh? Think maybe my doctor would indulge me an occasional frothy mug? It is after all called Bud light!