I’m voting yes after my blood work came back with my LDL on a stretcher. Didn’t much matter that my triglycerides and HDL are soaring like jets, it’s still considered too high…
bad, bad cholesterol.
The little girl from my doctor’s office calling to give me the stats, suggested I give up milk, butter, eggs and all fatty meats. With the exception of fat flesh, I live on the other four. I put whole milk in my coffee and butter on my bread. What’s life without scrambled eggs I ask you, or a little egg salad on rye?
She also added, “Oh…I almost forgot Miss Bianchi…no wine or cheese.”
“Excuse me, did you say no wine or cheese? Expect a call from my lawyer in the morning.”
Not being much of a drinker, I could certainly forgo my weekly glass of Merlot, but the thought of giving up pizza may require a letter to my congressman.
I live on vegetables so that should glean me points, but apparently Dr. R. told her to tell me, if my LDL wasn’t lowered in six months then I’d have to consider medication.
Yeah…fat chance…these doctors make a fortune in kickbacks from the drug companies each time they sell someone on a drug. I didn’t believe it at first, but after a year of having every pill thrown at me with murmured possible side effects, I do now.
You may sprout another head Miss Bianchi, but that’s considered rare so I wouldn’t worry, as he packed his golf clubs on his way down south.
This news wasn’t greeted well, as you can see, making me turn to history for solace.
Did Thomas Jefferson and George Washington worry about their LDL? They lived on mutton and Madeira for God’s sake. Did Tom say to one of his slaves, “Listen, from now on it’s margarine and 2%, and no fatty sheep, you hear me Jupiter? And while you’re at it, hold the stilton ( a very rich cheese).”
Tom was 83 when he said adios, and George, though younger, would have lived much longer if he didn’t die of a cold. He was 67.
His manners are what killed him, not plaque. He got caught in the rain on horseback and on arriving home, rather than keep his dinner guests waiting by running up to change clothes, he presided damp, drip-drying over dinner. I ask you, where was Martha to say, “George, go upstairs and put on dry pantaloons…NOW.” One can safely say she wasn’t Jewish or Italian.
But I’m digressing.
I’m very concerned, yet not so much sashaying back and forth.
I don’t want to give up the foods I love since I don’t eat all that much to begin with, but a heart attack doesn’t interest me either. Who has time?
But then I read about that mudslide in Washington, and the woman who was killed by a brick on 57th Street…throw in 9/11 and I say, to hell with it.
I’ll have a toasted bagel with extra butter, two scrambled eggs and milk for my coffee and a slice as I’m walking out the door.