Waxing Build up

So recently, as part of my new regime of self loathing, I went to the doctor so I could have official documentation and quantification of how much I am destroying my body. I mean, without numbers, how can I do worse or know I'm doing worse. Because I think that one can study for blood tests, I have been eating better and trying to be better to my body by not drinking lighter fluid every 20 minutes. I have also been practicing peeing in a cup. It isn't that easy, especially from a distance.

So the doctor poked and prodded me. He performed a series of medical tests which required that he rub my stomach, pat my head and mock me for the 15 pounds I should lose. Then, as part of the plea agreement, he sent a nurse in to stick a needle in me and take some of my blood. I'm a fan of my blood. It does stuff like circulate and keep me from not having any blood. I was reluctant to give it up not only because it is one of the few things that I have created that has not tried to make me feel guilty for not going to the mall (children, take note), but also because I don't like the idea that it will turn states' evidence and tell the doctor all about my bad habits like cookies and more cookies. I like cookies.

I reluctantly gave the blood. By reluctantly I mean I sat there and let some woman I don't know stick a needle in me. And to think...I paid her for the privilege. Seems somewhat sordid. Then I left and decided to spend a few days bingeing, figuring that once the blood came back, the world would have the proof that I had such a bad level of cholesterol in my blood that the doctor simply turned the beakers into decorative candles.

Note -- in case you didn't know, and haven't looked up on wikipedia, cholesterol is a waxy substance. So I'm taking the liberty to make jokes about wax. No one makes jokes about wax these days. Apparently, that is still true even after I type this. Hmmm, sad.

I got a call from the nurse on the home answering machine the other day. She said "this is _______ from the doctor's office. He said that your blood work is fine." Click. That's it. Now that might be enough in general, but I am sure that I need more detail in order to be positive that I am not already dead. So I called back. Eight hours later, my cell phone rings and the doctor identifies himself. He asks if I got a call and I said I had but the nurse only said that the levels are fine.

"Yes," he says. "She said that because that's what I told her to say."

"OK" I say lamely. Well what would you say? (apologies, Mr. Mandel)

"What I should have said is that your numbers are superfine" he continues. Now I'm intrigued. Very few things are superfine. Either I have photographs in my blood or I got a transfusion from Kal-el.

"Your cholesterol number might sound like it is high, but don't worry." So I ask what my number is that might sound high.

"220" he says.

"That sounds high" I think, but I say nothing because I don't want to validate his expectation of my reaction. I bet you thought I'd say it. You don't know me at all.

"Your HDL, the good cholesterol, is fantastic."

Now I don't know what the norm is for the numbers but I'm assuming that by fantastic he means it is in the good range (which I later discover to be 50 or above).

"Your HDL is 91. Unbelievable." I'm starting to feel pretty good. He tells me that this is probably genetic and affords me a goodly amount of protection from heart disease. "Your LDL, the bad cholesterol, is 118." That is a touch above average (115) and not a bad thing.

He continues to tell me that my liver and kidney and other vital organs seems to be working at optimal levels and I can have warp capacity within 2 days.

So what would you do in that case? Would you continue to eat reasonably, with salads and balanced, measured meals? Or would you think "Hey - I'm doing great...I don't even need to try!" and then eat a copious amount of cookies and candy?

I did both, just to be sure.