Intentional Roadblocks
I don’t love visiting the doctor for any reason but follow up appointments are usually just one more thing on the things to do list. And needs must. I’d rather have something checked out rather than sit and worry myself over all the dire diagnoses I’ve scrolled through on the internet.
Last Monday was a “follow up” on my blood pressure and a renewal of the prescription I don’t enjoy taking – but I’m grateful for it, nevertheless. That visit is never something I’m keen to do but my prior blood pressure test was pretty good - a marked improvement so I had especially high hopes as I set off to see my appointment.
Thinking I had plenty of time to make the drive, arrive early and sit quietly before I met “the pump”, I was soon disabused of that notion. Forgetting what midday traffic is like heading into the city I was met with slow traffic as 2 lanes of traffic were narrowed to one (there are 3 lanes but the right lane is designated for buses and bicycles) due to snow melting machines on the road, cleaning up from the recent heavy snowfall we’d endured. Once past that, I thought it would be smooth sailing but not to be. I managed to somehow hit every red light. What started as a slow seethe soon turned to red hot rage as I cursed every traffic light while the car came to a stop. From mild oaths to full profanity, I could feel my blood pressure rising. With every brake, I’d look at the clock on the radio and start a mantra of “I’m going to be late” and sure enough by the time I arrived at the building it was 5 minutes past my appointment.
When I entered the building there was one receptionist instead of the usual three and that one was on the telephone. There was another woman waiting in front of me and one who came in behind me who did me no favours as standing almost on top of me in the crowded space, she kept saying loudly, “I have an appointment and I’m late. Why am I waiting here?” By this point I didn’t need a blood pressure cuff to tell me that reading was going to be off the charts.
Once upstairs at the office, the receptionist there said to me “we’ve been waiting” – yes, I know and said she’d take me straight to the consulting room. Great. I barely had time to take my coat off before the doctor walked in and hooked me up. No chance to catch my breath, no moment to locate something other than a poster for how to cover your mouth if you cough or sneeze to focus on to help me find some moment of Zen – just straight to the let’s cut off the circulation in your arm.
When the doctor sat down and showed me that my blood pressure was elevated – colour me surprised – I asked if the stress I’d been feeling for the last 30 minutes might have contributed to that she replied “well there’s only one way we’ll know that.” No, she didn’t offer to take it again, she suggested I invest in a home blood pressure machine and see what the readings are for a few weeks and then she’d see me again.
Hypertension has played a starring role on both sides of my family so genetics would indicate that I might be a candidate for that myself. Knowing this, I thought it might be a good idea to get one just to know where I stand with this issue. Dutifully purchased, the thing has sat on my desk for a week. I look at it and think tomorrow will be a good day to start. Also, the next day and the one after that. Obviously, I am not really keen to find out what numbers might await me.
I’ve argued with this thing for days. I’ve had a hard time getting the cuff on correctly. How hard is it to wrap something around your arm? Apparently, I need an advanced degree. I give up so easily when it isn’t on “just right” and tell myself the struggle will only affect the reading. I was complaining about this to my oldest friend who has also used one (and told me not to be discouraged because it will never give me the same reading twice - helpful). She assured me that “once you’ve beaten that thing into submission, you’ll see how easy it is.” I did manage to get it on one afternoon and as the cuff began to close around my upper arm I felt rather pleased with myself until the reading showed my blood pressure at 250 and then began to flash “error” – I should hope so!
I watched videos on how to do this. It looks so easy and I thought a child could probably do this. And off I’d go. To no avail. I knew it was me setting up roadblocks. I have no real desire to do this and any excuse will do. It snowed the other day – that will put my blood pressure up. I have to shovel – that’s definitely not going to help. This particular day ends in a “y”. Any excuse.
Finally, I decided to ask for help. I called a friend who I know has used one of these. He also told me it was a waste of time, although in his case, his doctor said he had high blood pressure and the readings he took at home showed that was not the case. Off I went today to see him, cuff in hand. He agreed it was a bit complicated (so kind of him) – different than the one he had but as I stood there, he wrapped it around my arm to the right tension, and I slowly slipped it off – just as it was. It’s sitting here now, on the desk, beside the machine. Waiting for me tomorrow morning. Wonder what excuse I’ll come up with then? This machine and I are not going to be friends. Passing acquaintances is fine with me.
Moral of this story. Just because you think you should be able to do something, even something simple, doesn’t always mean you can. Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s a sign that you can save yourself a great deal of time and stress by meeting the problem head on. Recognizing that you are creating intentional roadblocks is half the battle.
