annanotbob2's Diaryland
Diary
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BP mainly
I've had a right to-do over my blood pressure this week. It's not remotely interesting but I want to record it. I'd skip to the next para if I were you. (Just noticed that in that phrase we do use the subjunctive 'I were' which has almost disappeared) So. Tim Spector, the Zoe Covid research guy is doing a study to see if there's a link between Covid and blood pressure. I've had Covid: will I fill in the questionnaire and take my BP three times? Yep, always happy to help researchers, it's how knowledge grows. I have a home BP jobby, so I use it and fill in the form. But my BP is a bit fucking high, especially considering I already take meds to lower it. 197/156 was the average. Yikes. But hang on, I haven't taken my tablet yet, so I do and I wait a few hours and do it again. 211/158. Fucking Hell! That's a lot. But it's Saturday and what do I do? I'm not going to A&E because I'm fine, I'm just worried, but I wouldn't even know if I hadn't been asked to do that survey. So I decide to call the surgery on Monday. But I forget. I see my pal J on Tuesday and some conversation reminds me so I tell her about it and she goes mental with concern as she knows about these things and that's really too fucking high. So I promise to call the surgery in the morning and I do, though J sends me a reminder as well which is both nice and a bit scary.
This needs a paragraph break so skip on to avoid the BP saga. The doctor calls me back, I explain, she says yes, that is scary, but don't panic, take it twice a day for seven days, make notes and we'll look at it then. Cool. Last night it was 146/98, which is still crap according to the NHS website (the only one I trust as it's not trying to sell me anything, just keep me healthy so I don't need anything from them) but not too bad. This morning though it's back up, 218/175. Fucking hell. Bloke says it might be the machine so does his: 133/75, so it's not the machine. I check on the NHS site and it says in red letters to call your GP, so I do. I get a male doc I've not encountered before and he asks me to come down to the surgery so he can "get a look at me." I go and he looks and is reassured as I look pretty healthy, but he takes my BP, twice, on two different machines and it comes up high but not mental - I don't have the record of that, but it's OK. High, but not panic stations. So he decides to put me on another medication, gives me a month's supply and tells me to forget about it for three weeks, then start testing again, morning and night for seven days then report back to him. Though the notes on the medication say to stay right out of the sun as there may be a skin reaction. Fucking hell. I'll ask the pharmacist what she thinks - sometimes the notes are exaggerated, like once it said not to take these pills if you're already on these others, which I was, but apparently they 'just say that to avoid being sued' so who fucking knows.
See, it was a right saga, two fat paras worth. Apart from that, today I tidied my bedroom better than I have for too long - it's been a bit like a teenager's, clothes in piles, dust thick round the edges, books and papers all over everywhere. It took me three podcasts to do it all. Emily Maitlis's MacTaggart Lecture at the Edinburgh International TV festival, which was astonishingly good, about the state of media in these dangerous days of 'populism' - available on youtube and deserving more focused attention than it got from me. Also two eps of Grace Dent's Comfort Eating - Rufus Wainwright and Jamie Laing, both of them wittering on in the background.
When I came downstairs I discovered the loofah vine had finally flowered, far too late to set and grow into a loofah I can use and only one flower when it would need two, a female and a male, to pollinate, so useless but also exciting.
Tomorrow I'm going to do something better than cleaning and medical shite. Though I did do a yoga session too so not all shite.
12:30 a.m. - 26.08.22
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