Yesterday was one of those days I had to render 14 hours to accommodate a client call I had to make. Naturally, because of the extended work hours I had to render, I was famished by the time the clock hit ten o’clock. Of course, I did what any normal, 26 year-old, overweight, highly-stressed yuppie would do–and that is order Pizza from PizzaHut, making sure there’s at least 5 tablespoons of salt in every slice and consume no less than eight slices before turning to drink what could’ve been at least 700ml’s of Pepsi.

Now, because I am perpetually in a state somnolence, I never thought any of the fact that I was literally falling asleep behind the wheel of my car on my way home from work last night. I mean seriously, this shit happens to me almost everyday. It was only after all the dizziness and blurred vision manifested that my panic level went up a notch.

After a long crawl through Commonwealth avenue, I came to the realization that I have lost most of the critical faculties that allow me to drive and think straight. For some strange reason, however, I could hear voices in my head saying shit like “If you land this plane, we will trade fuel for hostages“ ala Gary Oldman in Airforce one. (Also, I’d like it to go on record that Harrison Ford who co-starred with Gary Oldman in Airforce one is a sexy son of a bitch whose balls I wouldn’t mind touching my lips. I’d also like it to go on record that this comes from a man that has an untarnished record of heterosexuality. Except for a couple of times I “experimented” out of curiosity during that phase in my life when I didn’t believe that “S’ing” another man’s “D” makes one gay. It does. At least I know now.)

Anyway, in what could possibly be the best decision I have made under duress, I made a U-turn to a nearby hospital where I, before reaching the emergency room, vomited a mixture of what I thought to be saliva, sotanghon and rice in the hospital parking lot.
I reached the emergency room where a portly male nurse asked me what was wrong with me and after telling him my symptoms, he asked me if I had a history of hypertension.

I didn’t know.

I mean, I suspect that I am hypertensive but never really went to see a doctor about it. I mean come on, if I do, he’s just going to say “Well fat chops, why don’t you consider cardiovascular workout in a gym or something? And I’m surprised that you’re surprised that you’re hypertensive considering you eat meals that could feed a small African village, drink around 100 bottles of Red Horse a month and smoke 2 packs of cigarettes a day. For Christ’s sake Mikey, you have to be more responsible with your health! You’re already 26 years-old! You are a man! A man with a bird the size of a baby’s!”

So I said I don’t know. He shook his head as if saying “I know you’re hypertensive just by looking at you” and took my blood pressure. The result? 160 over fucking 100.

Because I took pre-med for college, I know enough to know that blood pressure like that is critically high. And because it’s critically high, I expected to get treatment ASAP.

This did not happen.

Apparently, in hospitals people who complain about hypertension take a backseat to people who get shot in the throat by their drunk neighbors.

Anyway, after 2 hours of watching people get treated for gunshot wounds, stab wounds and a bunch of other freak accidents that range from some girl falling from a double-deck bed, busting her head open to a guy who somehow managed to impale his arm with a lead pipe, somebody finally gave me a drug that lowered my blood pressure to normal. I was then sent home with reminders to exercise more and eat right.

Eh?

Between drinking inordinately, eating twice my body weight in food and just suffering a minor stroke once in a while as a consequence, I think that’s leagues better than not having alcohol and eating salad for the rest of my life. Mmmhmm.

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