Tag Archives: heart

Feeling salty…

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Other people go over the moon for chocolate or other sweets, but it’s always been the bag of potato chips or bowl of pretzels that’s been my weakness.  Being on this damned diet hasn’t changed that in the least. If I’m having a craving, 99 times out of 100 it’s for something salty rather than sweet. That has been a unique challenge while trying to keep my daily sodium intake somewhere close to the AHA’s recommended daily allowance. You don’t realize how sodium heavy everything is until you really start tracking it relentlessly. 

I find I’m just now arriving at a place where I can have a bag of Doritos or salt and vinegar chips in the house and reliably hold myself to a one ounce “serving.” Some days – yesterday, for example – all the counting in the world doesn’t make much difference. Between my morning bagel, 100 grams of ham salad at lunch, and a cup and a half of beef stew, my sodium content for the day was shot to hell. Believe me when I tell you it doesn’t take much for the day’s allowance of salt to slip entirely off the rails.

Fortunately, I don’t seem to be one of the people whose blood pressure responds absurdly out of proportion to sodium so my reading this morning didn’t go stupid. I have, however, noticed that weighing in after a high sodium day easily packs on 1% or more of my previous day’s body weight. That’s an absurd increase while still being in a nominal calorie deficit. Sure, I know in the next day or two I’ll literally piss that water weight away, but goddamn if I’m not feeling just a little salty about it.

Anyway, I’ve been doing this for almost a year and a half now and there’s honestly none of it where I would look back fondly and say, “yes, I was having a good time.” As long as the status quo holds, I continue to be willing to trade flavor for a promised increase in yardage. Should the status quo change, rest assured, all bets are off. 

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. Heartburn. You know what you should definitely throw at a guy who’s trying very hard to get his cardiac health improved? A sudden onset burst of god awful heartburn, that’s what. Because there’s no chance at all that would trigger 17 bloody flavors of panic and hundreds if not thousands of dollars in fun new medical tests and their corresponding bills. This week proudly continues 2023’s ongoing effort to be marked out as the worst of my 45 years… so far.

2. Samples. Well, the do it yourself stool sample package they sent me home with in hopes of ruling out a stomach ulcer and more or less confirming acid reflux has definitely unlocked a new level of disgust. It also reminded me that modern medical science is apparently not nearly as far away from reading entrails, casting bones, and balancing the humors as they like to think they are.

3. Fall yard work. It’s not so much that it’s a lot to do as it is that fall yard work is just bloody continuous. In the summer, I cut the grass once a week and trim every second week unless it’s growing unusually fast. In the fall, however, the minute I’ve finished mulching up leaves and blowing what can’t be mulched, the yard is every bit as covered as it was before I started. Yes, I know this was a self inflicted wound when I decided to live in the woods, but still it’s just a little bit maddening.

Thoughts at fifty down…

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The internet is chock full of sites about weight loss, exercise, and healthy eating. You don’t need to worry about this turning into one of them. Everyone wants to tell you about their “weight loss journey,” or how happy they are, or how it’s been the most wonderfully transformational experience of their life.

Yeah. I’m definitely not one of them.

As of late last week, I’m down 50 pounds. My reasons have nothing to do with looking better or giving much of a damn about having transformational experiences. My sole motivator is doing whatever is advisable to keep my heart from attempting to race out of my chest for no apparent reason while I’m sitting in the living room watching television on a random Wednesday night. Full stop. If we arrive at a final diagnosis that doesn’t include weight as a contributing factor, you can rest assured that I’ll go on a burrito, and cheesesteak, and lasagna eating binge the likes of which the world has never seen.

The simple truth is, I don’t feel any better. I don’t feel more energetic. I certainly don’t feel “transformed.” What I do feel is just about constantly hungry. I also feel mad as hell that recipes I spent 20 years perfecting are now in the ash heap because the “appropriate serving size to stay within your caloric goals” is a 2-inch by 2-inch square or 1/2 of a cup. 

If you happened to think my mood was a bit surly before, well, this new, lighter Jeff is just wandering around looking for a reason to pick a fight. 

Look, if you’re one of the people who gets thrilled and excited by this sort of thing, more power to you. I’m envious. For me, it’s more an experience to be endured while I ponder if what I’ve given up is worth the few extra unpromised miles I may or may not tag on the end of the trip. 

In time, maybe I’ll get to acceptance… but just now, I’m perfectly happy to sit here stoking the low-grade rage. 

Good news… it wasn’t a heart attack…

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There are, as you know, things that I don’t discuss on social media. It’s an old fashioned notion, even sharing as much as I do, that some things at least ought to remain private. I say that only to note that what follows is an incomplete telling of the tale. The salient points, however, are unmolested.

My trouble started on a Wednesday night. I wasn’t doing anything more dramatic than sitting in the living room watching TV after dinner. Out of nowhere, my heart revved up to a roaring gallop and stayed there. No pain. No trouble breathing. No light headedness. I’ve never understood what people meant when they said they experienced an impending feeling of doom. I do now though. All in, the trouble lasted maybe an hour or 90 minutes before it began subsiding.

After first trying to power through it and then consulting the family medical professional, I eventually conceded that it was probably something I needed to have checked out. Shortly thereafter, I was being given the once over at the local emergency department, where they quickly ruled out a heart attack and monitored me for four hours before sending me on my way.

The next night, same time, same place, same experience. Well, not quite. It wasn’t as bad and didn’t last as long. It was still deeply disturbing and I spent the rest of the night felling like absolute trash.

By Friday morning, I still felt decidedly “off,” for lack of a better description. I later described it as feeling like someone had filled my head with wool and then pressurized it. I knew if I called for emergency services they’d just dump me back where I had been on Wednesday night. That wasn’t an especially comforting thought.

Whether it was entirely advisable or not, I drove myself over to the “main campus” facility of the local hospital system. After many of the same tests given to me two days earlier, but finally having met with two cardiologists, they confirmed that I wasn’t having and didn’t have a heart attack. Their most likely diagnosis was supraventricular tachycardia (SVT) – essentially a (probably) not life-threatening electrical problem in one of the upper chambers of my heart that can cause an erratic heartbeat.

They prescribed some new meds to slow my heart rate and scheduled me in for a proper cardiology appointment after which I assume we’ll start the full battery of diagnostic tests and determine a long-term treatment plan. My first proper cardiology appointment is later this week. 

I haven’t had any more incidents, but I spent the better part of a week feeling entirely wrung out. If it wasn’t for needing to feed the herd, it’s hard to say how little I’d have forced myself up off the couch. All told it was every bit of two weeks before my head stopped feeling wooly and I was able to concentrate for any length of time. Even the meds they gave me as a temporary expedient aren’t entirely benign. Over the last week or so a couple of side effects have gotten more pronounced and working with the medicos to get that dialed in has been significantly less than fun.

Look, I’m thrilled that the diagnosis is “not a heart attack,” but going into the second month of feeling like warm trash isn’t exactly the summer adventure I envisioned for 2023. I’ll know soon enough if this week marks the end of the beginning or if just kicks us right back to go. Given the abuse I’ve hurled at my body for 45 years, I should probably be impressed that it’s just now starting to seriously object. I only wish the good times would last a little longer. That not being the case, we’ll just have to play the ball from where it lies.

A funny thing happened on the way to the emergency room…

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OK, well maybe it wasn’t so much a funny thing as a ridiculously painful thing. After putzing around the yard most of the afternoon and busying myself shoving furniture around the living room, I noticed a dull ache that seemed to be centered around the bottom of my sternum. No big deal, thought I… I probably just pulled something heaving the couch into its new position. Grabbing a cold beverage and Tylenol, I started making dinner. Well, that lasted about 15 minutes before the pain started moving up and across my chest. Now, I’m not a fancy big city doctor, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t a good thing. After putting it off another ten or fifteen minutes, I knew it was time to go.

Having a bit of a “typical man” streak, I loaded the address of the local emergency room into my Garmin and set off. I certainly wasn’t in enough pain to justify calling an ambulance… Yet. It’s a quick drive to the ER, especially on a Sunday night, but when the waves of nausea set in, a 5 mile drive seems like it takes hours. Every stop light becomes a personal affront to my sense of order and well being. By this point, I really feel an overwhelming need to toss my cookies. Drawing up a reserve of determination not to spew all over my car’s interior, I drove on. By the time I get to the hospital, I was feeling more or less like someone was busy sticking me in the chest with an ice pick. It’s absolutely as much fun as it sounds.

After five hours of poking, prodding, having blood drawn, getting chest x-rays, EKGs, and meeting with 2 ER doctors, they decided that what I actually had was a bad case of acid reflux. There must be something to their diagnosis, as after giving me some ass-tasting meds and filling a prescription for Nexium, I was feeling much better. Although I’m feeling better and enjoying the unexpected day away from the office, now annoyed at the thought of what’s going to be a ridiculously large bill for a case of heartburn. I’m even more annoyed that I have to take more time off tomorrow to go visit my new “primary care” doc, who I was conveniently referred to by his friend running the ER. He’s supposed to be a specialist in stomach stuff and one of his partners is apparently a hot shot cardiac guy… so two birds with one stone, I suppose.

What separates us from the primates…

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Authors note: This is not directed at any individual, living or dead. It is based on a series of observations over the last week. The use of the word “you” does not refer necessarily to “you” the reader, but more general “you” directed at the general public.

I’ve had two separate people tell me over the course of the last week some variation of the phrase, “you can’t always lead with your head.” I call bullshit. I call bullshit on the people who stumble blindly through life from one thing to the next because they’re “following their heart.” I call bullshit on people who turn left instead of right because “they have a feeling.” I call bullshit on a society that values luck over skill and mediocrity over greatness.

People, listen up, because your Uncle Jeff is only gonna go over this material one time. And yes, before someone asks, it will be on the test. Look in the mirror. Do you see that great big melon-looking rock sitting atop your neck? That’s your head. It’s where your brain lives. Your brain is useful for completing all sorts of tasks like addition, breathing, and general problem solving. Your brain, unlike that of say, a swallow, is well developed and provides you with the ability, when used correctly, to apply reason and intellect to even the most difficult of situations. The human brain has developed over millions of years to protect the rest of the body from writing checks that are too expensive to cash.

The ability to apply reason is what separates us from our primate cousins. It’s why we have built civilizations while they pick fleas off one another. I’m not saying that the heart or the spleen or the liver can’t be the point of inspiration, but it’s up to the brain to take that inspiration and flesh it out. It’s through reason that we come to understand the inspiration and impulses for what they are. It’s our intellect and our ability to make the hard decisions without getting waylaid that fundamentally makes us human.

Use your heart, or your intuition, or your ESP for all I care. But at the end of the day, try running things through your brain first before you declare the decision making process to be at an end. Try leading with your head for a change. You might be surprised.