DON'T GET PREGNANT!

As it turned out, we didn't do the angiogram or the stent today. Just in-depth consultation, explaining what the heck is wrong, next steps and how we are going to approach it, and what the various options are. Then, two weeks hence, the angiogram. Plus Valium to make me receptive and limp.
And then, if necessary and useful, a stent.
Which is a great possibility.

And I should mention that today is Day Two of the additional medicine, and now, more than for the last several months, I truly feel full of piss and vinegar again. The next two weeks should be a cakewalk.

Today's lecture about the evils of smoking was incidental, and mild, rather than fiercely hectoring. The good doctor probably realizes that a pipe or two is more of a comfort at this point than would make the additional stress worthwhile. But he did mention that it was not good.


Because of the many hours at two hospitals being poked and prodded, food since Monday morning has been a bit of an afterthought. A few dimsummy items on Tuesday. Rice porridge and a dough stick Wednesday.
A bowl of rice with pork and egg today.


But there are cookies nearby.

And a cup of coffee.


Sometime this evening, after a nap, I'll head out for a last smoke of the day at the Tower. It's not raining, but cold enough that any anti-smokers should be home, warmly abed, clutching their tofu for comfort.
Nice, non-threatening, gluten-free tofu.
Such spiritual! Such blessing!
Karmic radiances!




All of my prescriptions say not to get pregnant while taking them. This paints a picture of American womanhood which is somewhat disconcerting. What on earth are you ladies up to while so young?
And still fecund.

[This blogger is male and middle-aged. I cannot get pregnant, no matter how many double bacon cheeseburgers I snarf. And I haven't snarfed them in years, btw. I am not a Clemson Tiger.]

Never mind. Don't answer that.
What. Ever.




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NOW LIE PERFECTLY STILL

My apartment mate has called in sick today, it's that nasty cold that's going around. Makes one sound like a leaky radiator system, steam heat, drips, and eruptions. Now, I hope she feels much better in a few hours. But I will not be around for most of the day to fix her soup. Not because it's one of my work days, which it is, but because for most of the day I myself will be at the doctor's office (heart specialist) having something snaked into a vein with subsequent injection of a radiographic contrast agent.


All of this sounds fascinating. Together we will watch the x-ray movie.
There will be (probably) some lidocaine involved.


ANGIOGRAM

The results will determine three possible courses of action:
A) If there are serious blockages, the cardiologist might do an immediate procedure, such as balloon angioplasty and stenting.
B) Coronary bypass surgery could be scheduled, a surgical method for restoring blood flow.
C) If the angiogram shows plaque build-up that does NOT require immediate attention, the doctor will review the images and study the case before coming up with a plan of action.

Life style changes and further medication, in any case, are part of the programme. And in all honesty, I am not looking forward to any of this, but the alternative is not appealing either.


And, of course, there will be a vicious lecture about the evils of tobacco. During which I shall likely be fondling a briar pipe in my pocket. For symbolic comfort's sake, a pouch of something smokable will also be there, and the pipe cleaners and a tamper are also coming along.


I'm thinking a Peterson System Standard.
It's quite the most pipish shape.
Unique and serviceable.
Comforting.




Yesterday afternoon my doctor sounded quite upbeat and positive about the whole thing. Confidence inspiring. By mid-evening, mild panic was setting in, however, which altogether was irrational. Still. I am not looking forward to most of this day.




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THE NUCLEAR STRESS TEST

As you may know, the purpose of the Nuclear Stress Test is to see how your blood circulates in the heart and major vessels, and how it all responds to stress, in a controlled environment with medical personnel standing by, just in case everything goes wrong. Which, in most cases, it doesn't. Part of the whole shebang is introducing a radioactive isotope into the blood, then a while later mapping out everything with a gamma camera.

It's a way of seeing potential problem areas, and acting preventatively.

The stress part can be done chemically, which means that your flabby old body won't be jogging and quivering on a treadmill, but will be lying flat, and a nasty substance which makes your heart pound is injected into your veins. Followed, shortly thereafter, by something that calms the system down again, while the first substance loses it's effect.

That, more or less, is roughly what I've gathered from the words of the professionals involved in conducting it, as well as the internet.

What I didn't know is that it meant sitting around for hours.

Or lying flat, also for long periods of time.

I already knew about the needles.


And I hate needles.

Chinese Hospital SF

One of my earliest clear sentient memories, absolutely vivid, is of being chased around a doctor's office somewhere near Naarden when I was barely three years old, for the purposes of torture (a flu shot).
Throughout much of my childhood, hypodermics popped up with disturbing frequency, flu shots and other innoculations. Since my late teens I have as much as possible avoided the damned things.
A series of visits to the dentist over a decade ago was eased considerably by the humour of the master of ceremonies, a swab of topical anesthesia, and subsequent jabs I did not notice.

I am not a sensitive man. Just phobic. As well as neurotic.

The bad news, when they released me to go get lunch, was "no caffeinated beverages!" At least not until much later, after everything was done. I had not had coffee or tea since morning yesterday, and I am, as are most people, the 'coffee generation'. Cranky without caffeine. As some might say, damned impossible to deal with, and easily irritated to boot.
A pain in the gand for people around me.



LUNCH

Leung go chu yiuk siu mai (兩個豬肉燒賣), leung go po choi gaau (兩個菠菜餃), yat go lo mai baau (一個糯米包). Two steamed pork cups, two spinach dumplings, and a glutinous rice ball with savoury stuff mixed in. Plus hot sauce and a drizzle of soy. It was, after fasting since late morning yesterday, absolutely divine. And the pipe filled with Sutliff's version of Brigg's Mixture afterwards, while standing under a corrugated awning of a shuttered store opposite the hospital was extremely enjoyable. Of course the only thing missing was caffeine, but two hours later I had a cup of gong sik naai cha (港式奶茶，一杯) and a chaa siu sou (叉燒酥，一個).
Hot milk tea and a flaky charsiu turnover.
Followed by another smoke.

And, because I was in Chinatown already, I dropped by my barber and got a haircut. So I am now fully restored, and I look ten years younger.

If any nice young ladies want to drive my blood pressure up, you will be pleased to know that I am full of piss and vinegar.

As well as fuzzy and huggable.
Like a forest creature.
But trimmed

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CRUNCHY FROG? SOUNDS GOOD RIGHT NOW!

The refrigerator has tonnes of good stuff to eat, and I am keenly aware of that. Also, a cup of coffee would be very nice right now. Plus a satisfying smoke, aged Virginia in one of my older briars.
Except that I can do none of that; medical tests tomorrow, have to fast.

There is a large new bin of dark chocolate chunk and almond cookies within reach, as well as a hunk of delicious chocolate.

Have to fast.


I can drink water, though. Stay hydrated, which will help "them" find a suitable vein tomorrow.


This is all an intellectual exercise in not thinking of coffee, tea, cookies, cheese, bread, mustard greens, roast chicken, a tomato, an Italian sausage, tomato sauce, pasta, rice stick noodles, garlic and bacon drenched with chilipaste, toast with peanut butter and Sriracha, a jar of capers .......

There is also a bag of interestingly flavoured potato chips on the teevee room table.

Must not think of any of these things.

No lunch, no dinner.

Nor breakfast.

Or coffee.




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SPLENDID SOLITUDE

They advertised that it had been 'cask-mellowed' for four years. Which improved it, made it softer, richer, and more luxurious. Since the original manufacturer (Lorrilard) stopped making it, two other companies (one now defunct) duplicated it, the last being Sutliff.

Normally I eschew Sutliff. Some of their stuff is truly appalling.

But the other day Neil brought their match of Briggs Mixture around, and, after drying it a little bit, I enjoyed a bowl.

Burley (heat-treated), Virginias, Kentucky. Subtle top dressing.
Sort of a chunky cut, slow burning, and relatively clean.

The forties were indeed a different era. An degenerate affection for overly sweetened goopy aromatics -- a phenomenon that eventually reached it's horrible apogee by the eighties and has still not abated -- had not yet taken hold of America's manhood, and pipe tobaccos were still mostly honest attempts to bring a simple pleasure to the country's living rooms.

I could mention something about how most pipesmokers nowadays spend a lot of time in the garage or the potting shed at the end of the yard, or, lord help us, underneath awnings in Chinatown during the rainy season; banished thither by modern sensibilities and the odium towards tobacco with which society has infected our nearest and dearest. But I shan't. My house mate half the time does not even notice when I am in another room happily puffing away, and I always let the place air out when she is gone.
I also make sure the door to her room is firmly shut on my off-days.
And that both the kitchen and bathroom windows are open.
Simmering ginger-tea for a few hours helps.
The place smells clean afterwards.


Well, the fact that I only smoke indoors before lunch has a lot to do with that too, as well as her less than perfect sense of smell.


That is what I would like to do on my first day off this week, tomorrow, except that I have to be out of the house early for tests down at Chinese Hospital, which means no coffee, no tea, no smoking, and no eating, after early afternoon today. One of the tests is a "nuclear stress test", during which they'll drip a radioactive solution into my veins so that the picture of my circulation is clearer (gamma camera scans), as well as a chemical stimulant (dipyridamole, denosine, etcetera) to measure how my system deals with stress.

The fact that I'll be uncaffeinated, on low blood sugar, grouchy as all git-out, and dying for a good smoke, will both add to the stress level and the excitement. An adventure, by gum!


There will be a pipe in my pocket, as well as a modicum of the Briggs Mixture reproduction by Sutliff. It has a sort of bready earthy taste, is not particularly strong in either the nicotine or flavour department, and there's that old-fashioned fragrance that one remembers adults in one's childhood having. Slightly sweet, slightly herbal. A vegetal pungency. I thoroughly enjoyed smoking it yesterday, and cadged some from Neil for half a dozen more bowls. Decent stuff. Not knock your socks off exciting, but on the whole damn' decent. I am looking forward to that.
It's an evocative air.


The moment they let me step outside for a restorative meal and a hot beverage, I am lighting up.



Yes, I know smoking is bad for my health.

TOBACCO INDEX


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THOUGHTS ON NOT GETTING PREGNANT

This is the fourth complete day that I'm on the medications for high blood pressure, the warning labels on which advised me to avoid getting pregnant or nursing an infant while taking them.
And yes, I do feel a lot better now, but I remain disappointed about the nursing or pregnancy bit. I suspect that that is just a passing phase.
Although if I were a woman it might be more of an issue.

I have, like probably most men, thought about what would happen if I did get someone pregnant, and resultingly had an offspring. But I've always put those thoughts and the world they conjure up aside, as not practical unless I could support the little rugrat of whichever gender through college, and be around to give it a nice Mont Blanc fountain pen upon graduation.
Question of responsibility, you know.

Plus the female person who would carry the new life for nine months would also have to be totally okay with it, and I've always looked askance at women who are over-eager to jump into that adventure.
Of whom I have not met very many in any case, and the women with whom I have been involved were sensibly hesitant about the concept.

Because, basically, the entire thing is a crap-shoot.
That kind of commitment is immense.
And requires insanity.
Or causes it.


But I would make a great parent. Instructive.


"Don't pet that rattlesnake, Rosinda, and no we will NOT have a flamethrower party! Ever!"


See? Common sense. An even-keeled and stable temperament.
Precisely what little Rosinda needs while growing up.
Plus lots of books, and imaginative toys.
And good advice about behaviour.


"Coffee and tobacco will stunt your growth, young lady, and it would be wise to abstain until you are an adult. Just look at these photos of your grandmama and great grandmama! Such short women! Neither one an inch over four foot ten! Coffee and tobacco! At far too young an age!
Heavy users in grammar school!"


Okay, so in reality my mother and grandmother didn't start indulging in tobacco till their mid-twenties -- my grandmama probably not even until her thirties -- and neither woman ever developed a heavy coffee habit. But Rosinda need not be made aware of that till she's an adult, as both of them have passed on. And I am not a tall man (only five foot eight and a half), so I'll blame that on caffeine and nicotine too.

But I remain adamant about not petting rattlesnakes and not having flamethrower parties. No crotalids, no incendiaries.


"Auntie Savage Kitten avoided coffee till she was in college, and never smoked. That's why she's five foot four and a half. Statuesque!"


Shan't mention her ideas about flamethrowers.




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FIRST TRIP TO THE DOCTOR IN SEVERAL YEARS

Losartan hctz comes with a warning not to take it if I become pregnant; the other prescription say that I must avoid taking it while breastfeeding OR becoming pregnant. I think I see a theme here.

They could've left off the warnings. Given my age and gender, we're not talking about any great likelihood.

And the stern lecture about the evils of smoking were kind of pointless; I already know it's dangerous, the damage has already been done, and I grew up in a town that used to have dozens of cigar factories.


And, as we know from television in the 1950s, more doctors smoke Camels than any other cigarette.
Probably out in the parking lot and when they think the receptionist isn't watching.




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