After hundred of years, medicine is still about the letting blood, but no leeches and barbers. Phlebotomists.

I am attempting to have a series of blood draws before a follow up appointment for hypertension. The blood pressure is down, calcium blockers and water pills all gone to work, three pills that blend four elements. Last night's reading came in at 113 / 82. A range of 31 might mean something. Better than 180 / 100, a range of 80. 180 is a bad sign for blood pressure because it can lead to depressed cognitive functioning.
That's where my blood pressure stood before the doctor added a second calcium blocker. I have switched to aspirin for arthritis pain, giving up on the non-steroidal meloxicam. I am surprised how comfortable I feel because for a long while the meloxicam kept me walking.

I like my brain more than I like almost every other organ my body, and I would hate to stroke it out. So I am learning to follow a medical regime for a chronic condition, which is new for me. Most issues in my life, such as a cough with infected mucus, lifted after a single dose of medicine.

Sadly,  friend in my department at work, not too much older than I, suffered a minor stroke while home fighting a spell of bronchitis. When he looked in the mirror to see half of his face debilitated, he knew to ask his wife to call an ambulance. He's home from the hospital, recovering. I hope he can come back to work soon, a mentally demanding job, sail his sailboat and play his bagpipe. Drink his scotch with his close friends. I have heard it was a minor stroke. Right? I have lost chess games to a man in the local woodpushers club who survived a minor stroke. I know a charming woman from the chamber of commerce who still sells financial planning products, despite experiencing a minor stroke.