up a down hill.

Here are the results of my lipid (cholesterol) test as of February 11. ¹

Type	Value	Goals
Total Cholesterol	254 mg/dl.	< 170
Triglycerides	275 mg/dl.	< 200
HDL	49 mg/dl.	> 45
LDL	150 mg/dl.	< 100

So, okay. I have this feeling of impending doom.

Some of you remember my last sit-down with my cardiologist who, among other choice descriptive phrases, remarked that at this rate I had the life expectancy of an overwrought lab rat. I'm not personally acquainted with any lab rats, so I can't say for sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Whereas the last meeting with her was notable for her earnest emphasis on imminent mortality, my latest conversation with her was more notable for a definite note of depression in her voice. It's possible I'm making her despair.

It's true that I did get some kudos for having raised my HDL, which I'd improved with much pain and suffering. Literally pain, and literally suffering; each one of those points was paid for with ass-kickings on the Aikido dojo floor. With Aikido, it's not so much the falling down -- which happens quite a bit -- as it is the getting back up again, an exercise that demands not only a prodigous familiarity with the limitations of your ass and thigh muscles, but also a masochism inherent in any offspring of my mother.

"At least that's improved," said the cardiologist gloomily, "but everything else is worse. Your LDL actually went up, and so did your triglycerides. You know that's bad, right? They were supposed to go down?"

...which, in the face of it, doesn't make much sense. My diet has changed considerably since the onset of Imminent Death Syndrome. Greens are up. Reds are down. The amount of roughage I've consumed in salad is enough to make all of England regular. I've eaten enough fish to qualify for Japanese-ness again. Just look at yesterday. Breakfast: Go Lean Kashi with soy milk. Lunch: oriental garden salad. Dinner: Fried ham and eggs...

Hm. I think I've found the problem.

"But they look so healthy in Dr. Seuss books!"

There was a silence on the phone. I could imagine her struggling furiously to swallow her tongue; she was starting to wonder if it was really worth trying to keep me alive. Did I really have anything worthwhile to contribute to the gene pool, after all? Upon due reflection, she thought not.

There are two ways for anybody, even the most recalcitrant of patients, to control her cholesterol. Three, if you count surgery, but liposuction is not covered under my Purple Monkey Medical Plan. In short order:

1. Medication. This is the easy route. On the pro side, it's simple, it's straightforward, and requires nothing more complicated in the way of intellectual participation beyond remembering to pop a pill at dinner, stay away from grapefruit, and not get pregnant. It's true that I have a short-term memory that would make cocker spaniels jealous; it's quite possible that I would, say, mix everything up. It's also true that the Guy might get a good deal of amusement watching me pop a pregnant person, stay away from dinner, and not get grapefruit.

   On the con side, medication costs money. Also -- what if I wake up tomorrow and decide while eating lunch that I want to get pregnant and give birth to a squirming, 6 lb 7 oz grapefruit? What happens then?

2. Control my cholesterol through diet, discipline, and exercise. (Excuse me while I recover from my mirth.)

   Those of you who know me realize full well that 'discipline' isn't a word that exists in my mother tongue of Gibberese. In the Hall of Nations that makes up my personality, Discipline flies the banner of Haiti; very small, very volatile, and prone to revolution at unexpected moments. Diet, on the other hand, is my personal America: freedom for all in principle, but me first in practice. By comparison, Exercise -- eclipsed into insignificance of late by the unholy alliance of Menstruation and Disease -- barely stands a chance.

   The pros of choosing this course to deal with my cholesterol problem: early death would prevent the need to continue working for the Purple Monkeys.

   The cons: I wouldn't be able to enjoy the freedom because I'd be, well, dead.

   It's a close call.
   

Given those two options, the obvious choice was naturally the one I selected. "Medicine," I told the doctor. "Ew. I'm not taking medicine." 'Obvious,' see, is very much in the eye of the beholder. (You don't know these Purple Monkeys.)

Two weeks later, I sat down at the urging of one of my medically trained coworkers, and attempted to write down my meals for the last few days. She folded a piece of paper in half and planted it in front of me. "Put all the junk food, the fried food, the unhealthy food, all that stuff in the left column," she ordered. "Put your good meals in the right column."

I nibbled the end of my pencil and gave it some thought. Kentucky Fried Chicken, I wrote. Taco Bell. Ham and Eggs. Ham and Eggs. Eggs. Ham and Eggs. French fri---

My coworker, hovering over me while I painstakingly extracted my meals from my memory, dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Call your doctor back," she said, firmly. "Go on the pills."

"Wait, wait, wait," I protested. "I was just writing the bad stuff first. Here." And, triumphantly, I scrawled oriental chicken salad in the right column.

We both eyed the entry, she with grave doubt, me with subdued pride.

Then I added In-n-Out burger in the left column.

"I don't understand why you're not already dead."

"I get that a lot."

Today I got the pills.

There are those out there who will be concerned about this, thinking that I'll blithely continue to abuse my arteries with appalling meals. To those people, I offer my reassurances; I have been spoken to, at length, by a nutritionist. The diet will change. I think she might have been Japanese. At the very least, she had to be Jewish. There are few people in the world capable of exercising such guilt on their behalf without a little hereditary help.

The first step, instigated by the Guy, is the consumption of The South Beach Diet, borrowed by a friend.

I hear it's good. Maybe if I deep fry it first . . . .

For those of you who don't know much about cholesterol, a crash course: HDL Good. LDL Bad. Easy mnemonic: H is for 'make Higher.' L is for 'make Lower.' HDL improves with exercise, and actually helps to lower LDL. LDL gets worse with crappy food, too many McDonalds commercials, and the presence of an In-n-Out Burger joint on the same block as your office. Triglycerides are fatty acids. Triglycerides bad. The way I remember Triglycerides is by thinking of them as a really bad girl band from the '80s. Which, okay, doesn't make any sense. Screw it.