If I were a pro baseball player that number would be exalted as a decent mid season batting average. But in the world of cholesterol, they prefer you sitting below the Mendoza Line (for you non-baseball fans, that's 200).
I've had high cholesterol since I can remember. When I had it tested for the first time at age 22, I sat vulnerable in my barely-there, raggedy patient gown as the doctor told me I was fat. When I started to cry, she shoved antidepressant samples into my purse and handed me glossy brochures of cholesterol medications. I refused to take medication at that age and in five years my opinion and cholesterol haven't budged.
I'm a victim of genetics and I played the Poor Me card for a while. I even threw a mini-fit when I found out my independent health insurance was going to cost $50 more every month because of my high cholesterol. Call it immaturity mixed with a little bit of denial. It was unfair and embarrassing to even consider popping a daily pill to control something in my body, especially when the pill I'd be on would be the same one my parents take and one that's featured in infomercials with old people who are probably just happy they're alive, forget about having a sub-200 total cholesterol. To me, the same people who needed cholesterol medicine were the same ones filling prescriptions for Viagra.
High cholesterol has a social stigma. I've never seen a 27-year-old on a Lipitor commercial blaming genetics and an average diet and exercise plan on her need for the medicinal assistance. While I'm sure I'm not the only mid 20-something person going through this, I'd sure appreciate some reassurance, a commercial that doesn't make me feel like an outsider.
A couple weeks ago I used my new insurance to get tested again, and it was no surprise when my paperwork arrived with a large number on the wrong side of the carrot, accompanied by a note from my doctor warning me that my cholesterol was "way too high" and to call her ASAP. It was a light bulb moment for me. Here I am, a month before my 28th birthday, and my cholesterol is still on the move... upwards. I needed to listen and obey, do whatever I could to fix it. Whining and complaining about how unfair it was to be dealt this card wasn't going to unclog my arteries or prolong my life.
Doctor's orders: Lose 10 lbs by upping my cardio and limiting myself to a 1,400-calorie, Mediterranean-style diet. That is the equivalent of starvation for me. I know, sounds dramatic. But I hate limits and rules. After six months, if the number is down, I guess I'll keep working hard. If it's not, well, it might be time to give in to in to the almighty pill.
I'm about 36 hours into the 1,400 calorie part (waiting to receive some glossy pamphlets from the doctor regarding the specific diet) and I already want to eat my arm off. I couldn't sleep last night because I was so hungry-- but I'm pretty sure most of it was me convincing myself I was hungrier than I really was. I've already warned my roommates and coworkers that I'll probably be a total b*tch for the first week or so. Food is my happiness (red flag!), but perhaps the forced cardio will help release the bitterness I've been carrying around with me lately and I can find joy in something else. Something that doesn't harm my health and my chances of having a long, happy life.
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