Mid July, 2003.
It was a blazing hot summers day and where exactly was I?
Sat in the bloody waiting room at the doctors surgery, that’s where I was!
Just what is it about those places that makes them so head numbingly boring? I’d already been sat there for twenty minutes and there was still three blokes to see the doctor before me, yet not one person had uttered a word!
I delved deep into thought.
I wasn’t consulting the doctor I wanted to consult.
It was a small village practice, overseen by two doctors, one at a time as it were. I was due to consult the big man himself, Dr. McGivitup…and it was vaguelly bothering me.
To be truthful, I had actually been avoiding him for quite some time, a few years at least, in favour of Dr. Ravon. Unfortunately, Dr. Ravon wasn’t due to take surgery for a couple of days and I needed to see a doctor fast!
I mean, it wasn’t as if I had anything against Dr. McGivitup. Quite the reverse, I viewed him as an excellent doctor. He didn’t dole out drugs at the drop of a hat. He was thourough. If there was a natural way of promoting good health, he would persue it with vigour. He was of the school, change your lifestyle, improve your health.
Which was exactly why I’d sought out and had been consulting Dr. Ravon. He drank, smoked and cussed as good as the rest. He was my kind of doctor. Also more to the point, not a person who could hit the guilt button with any solid backing as regarded those particular vices.
When I’d rang to make an appointment I’d been given a choice between McGivitup more or less straight away, or the Adonis…sorry, Dr. Ravon a few days hense.
Like I said, I needed to see a doctor fast…although I was pretty sure I knew what was going on, there was still that tiny shadow of doubt and I needed to oust that demon voice that was festering at the back of my mind…so I made an appointment to see McGivitup.
But, being bored, my mind wandered back to Dr. Ravon and I almost laughed out loud as it suddenly dawned on me why the surgery was bereft of the districts lady folk. I could just visualise them a few days hense, packed to the rafters as they antisipated the healing touch of the Adonis.
I was getting some funny looks from the remaining two menfolk as, I did my best to stifle the giggles that were rising up as my imagination ran riot.
I personally found it weird that the females of the parish disolved in whimper simper mode at the mere mention of Ravons name. I’d never seen the attraction myself. He might well be tall, dark and extremely handsome…but he was a cocky twat…you know the type, I love me, me, me!
My companions in waiting must have thought they were sharing space with some sort of nutter when I began to shake with suppressed laughter as a memory popped into my head.
A friend of mine was totally besotted with the Adonis…said friend being somewhat well endowed in the upper region and not shy about flaunting her assets as it were, went to see Ravon for a general check up. The clevage was on full display. She later recalled how he had put his stethascope to her chest and commented that she appeared to be having palputations.
“Of course I was having palputations,” she’d said, “he had his hand on my breast!”
Normally she would have refered to them as tits, knockers, bazookas…but no, that is the effect of the Adonis, the mammories become the heaving breasts of cheap romantic fiction.
The last bloke had left the building and I was still waiting for the big man to summon me to his consulting room.
“Constantine Payne to see McGivitup please.” Came the call over the tannoy.
I made my way to the consulting room and knocked lightly before entering.
McGivitup looked up from his computer and stretched in a relaxed manner before placing his hands behind his head.
God he’s lost weight, I observed, a lot of weight. He looked posotively athletic.
“Hi Constantine…what can I do for you?” He asked, then carried on before I had the chance to answer, “I suppose your here to have your blood pressure checked?”
I was impressed, he was up to speed with my health issues, despite my not having seen him for a few years.
“No actually,” I countered, “I’ve had a stiff neck for quite a while. Bike riding I suspect…hanging on for dear life as I hurtle down the dis-used railway track with all it’s bumps and lumps, ripping at my shoulder and neck muscles as I cling on.”
Suddenly I remembered, he had been there and done that…I’d seen him on occasion. So, that accounted for the new slim line McGivitup I mused, he’d taken up cycling.
“But anyway,” I ploughed on, “it feels muscular…only last night I was at the school play and I couldn’t find a position that felt comfortable, then when I got home,” I pulled back my shoulder length hair from behind my right ear and exposed my neck as I pointed to a half acorn sized lump that had developed, “I noticed this.”
McGivitup was immediately alert. His demeanor changed from relaxed to seriously concerned as he leaned forward and began feeling behind both my ears and down each side of my neck.
He was actually quite a handsome man in an understated sort of way, I mentally noted. He was big featured as befitted his big body. He was tall, with a mop of thick ginger hair…a scots man…with the most beautiful lilting accent. I tried to age him and couldn’t, he could have been in his mid thirties but was probably mid forties. I almost giggled as I recalled the last village dance, he liked his dancing did McGivitup and more often than not got himself kitted out in the full highland regalia for the event, the snobby ladies of the village falling over themselves to be seen dancing with him, the rest of us misfits more interested in what was under the kilt and sneakily pretending to drop something on the floor as he swirled by, with kilt flying high! But that was one of the things I loved about him, he wasn’t afraid to get out and socialize with his patients.
Examination over, he sat back in his chair, sort of slouched, with his elbow on the arm rest and his hand to his mouth, thumb rubbing his chin in contemplation. All the while he was looking me gravely in the eye.
What was going through my mind at that time?
Well, I knew he was going to issue a preparation for possible future doom…but all I could think was…it’s not what you think doc!
McGivitup finally spoke.
“This could be serious Constantine,” he stressed, “I want you to come back and see the nurse in the morning, she will take blood for testing.”
He had his elbows on his knees, leaning in towards me, his eyes penetrating mine with dire seriousness.
“And then I want you to come back and see me at this time next week, because if it’s still there, we’ll be looking at having you in for a biopsy.” He held his stare. “It is very important Constantine. You must come back and see me next week!”
Oh God, it’s always happening to me…I had to stifle a giggle as I realised he had noted my habit of failing to meet follow up consultations promptly. I mean, I always got there in the end, sometimes days late, more often than not weeks late, on occasion even months late…but I always made it in the end.
He retained his concerned face as I strove to do likewise. I stood to leave as he repeated.
“Nurse tomorrow, see me next week, okay?”
“Yes of course,” I replied politely, “and thank you very much doctor, have a good day.”
And with that I was gone.
I was deep in thought as I made my way down the pretty tree lined lane towards home. I could tell McGivitup had been puzzled by my attitude to the possible seriousness of his prognosis. But he didn’t understand what was going on…
It was that Gawd Awe Mighty prankster upstairs playing games with my mere mortal life…again!
This lump wasn’t serious, I just knew it wasn’t.
I knew exactly what it was.
It was the final warning…my final warning!
Bugger, bugger, bugger, I cursed.
Then that little demon voice right at the back of my mind, the one that had caused me to hot foot it to the doctors in the first place said, ‘it could be serious?’
“Get ye gone you satanic bag of shite!” I muttered to myself, then promptly put the whole thing out of my head.
I did concede it was required of me to contemplate the implications of my possible early demise and to act accordingly. So I decided to head straight for my back garden in which I grow fruit and vegetables, where I could do just that.
God, if the doctor could see half of what went on in my head he’d reel. He saw me as your average working class mother, nothing out of the ordinary, just a normal person getting on with a run of the mill life. He viewed nothing beyond the polite doctor patient relationship. You know, the one where the facade comes up and you portray youself to be the soul of respectability. Well at least I did!
But little did I suspect that he was about to become a major factor in my life and become privy to all my secrets.
One look at my vegetable plot and all thought of earnest contemplation of ones place in the greater scheme of things and what one must soberly vow to change in order to achieve it vanished!
The dry and arid weather had stunted the growth of everything I’d planted. Onions were half the size they should have been. The brassicas were fighting for survival. The beans and peas had a yellowish unhealthy hue. But were the weeds in any way detered from growth? Were they bollocks like! They had completely swallowed up my leaks and it wasn’t that long ago that I’d weeded them. I got stuck into uprooting some of them but what is it about bloody weeds, how come they thrive no matter what? Not only do they thrive, they posotively run amock, you pull one and ten more put down roots!
Growing your own food is damned hard graft, but it’s my thing, I can lose myself when I work the earth. I just drift off into the inner realms of Constantine…and I tell you, it’s a hell of a strange place to be! I’m living it and even I’m aware it’s not normal…well at least not normal as most people would perceive normal to be!
I attempted to steer my mind towards thinking about the things I’d been doing my best to avoid thinking about and I was just begining to drift when…
Ring, ring…ring, ring…
The telephone blasted out.
If that was bloody tele-sales I swore I would blow a gaskit! I could feel the old blood vessels tightening as I raced to answer it. Bang goes the blood pressure again! As if there isn’t enough stress in the world without having to gallop up the garden to take calls that turn out to be some predatory prat out to try to sell you shite! It’s a sever invasion of privacy, there should be a law against it. Curses on the lot of them…although not on the employees out to earn a crust, it’s the boss men I’m cursing, the ones out to shaft any sucker who’ll fall for the slaver that’ll fill their filthy coffers!
By the time I get to the phone I’m steaming.
“Yes!” I snap, just short of breathing fire.
“Well that’s some way to greet your old father I must say,” came the strained voice of Father Augustus.
Not father as in priest I might add, but my dad, my earthly father.
Well at least I think he is? My mother was always wont to say that you can mostly be pretty certain who your mother is…but you can NEVER be sure who your father is!
“Sorry I thought you were tele sales,”I answered him defensively, attempting to put the idea of comparing our features to search for any common denominators out of my head!
“So what do you know, ouwt or nowt?” He asked with a grunt.
“Nowt much,” I replied. He’s my father and even he is clueless about the secret world I inhabit.
“Well I just thought I’d give you a bell and catch up while I’m about my ablutions.”
“What do you mean about your ablutions?” Then it twigged, “aw father, your not sat on the crapper again are you?”
“Yeah, I’m on the throne with my pint pot of blash and I’ve got the portable fire raging in front of me,”
“What in this scorching weather?” I cut in.
“Well it’s chilly on the old bones at the back of this old house…but the trouble is, the bloody fire is just out of reach and I can’t get to it to turn it down, I swear I’ll have a tan before I’ve finished my crap!”
“God father, what a rosy image you paint, the imagination daren’t even go there! And then you womder why we call you gusty arse!”
I’m nearly deafened by the bellow of laughter he let’s rip and I swear I can hear him farting as well!
“By, that’s cleared me head,” he exclaims as his laughter changes direction and turns into a coughing fit.
“Are you okay?” I shouted to make myself heard above the racket.
“We aye,” he confirmed as the coughing settled down.
“You’ll be needing a flu jab this autumn if this is what your like in the summer.” I stated.
“Nooooo, what do I want a flu jab for? I haven’t had so much as a cold in years.”
“All the more reason to get one. If you get flu this winter, it’ll knock you sideways.”
“Why they vacinate you for certain strains anyway…I’d probably get a different strain to the one in the jab, so why bother?”
“Why bother indeed,” I bellowed, “why bloody bother! It could save your life you silly old duffer, that’s why bother!”
“I’ve had a good innings, if I pop me clogs, I pop me clogs, aint no big deal so why worry?” And with that he started another coughing fit.
“Well don’t bloody wellen go popping your clogs now, I don’t want to have to come and scrape you up off the bathroom floor with your kecks round your ankles and your arse hanging out!”
His bellow of mirth nearly deafened me.
“Anyway,” he questioned, “what are you getting your knickers in a knot for, I thought you were suspicious of man made drugs?”
“Yeah I am, but once you get to your great age it doesn’t really matter anymore does it?”
And that little episode put paid to any thinking I might have been planning to do because it was time to get peeling vegetables and rattling a few pots and pans for the ravenous family who would soon be home.
The following morning, ten thirty prompt, found me sat facing Violet the practice nurse.
Violet was studying her computer screen.
“My goodness,” she said, “we’re going to need a pint of blood for this little lot!”
She was trying to make light of the situation, while giving me an opening to ask questions. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what I was being tested for, so I merely proffered my arm for the blood letting.
“Men,” Violet chatted as she readied the vials for the blood and picked up the syringe, “he could have done this when he saw you yesterday you know. I don’t know why he didn’t, it could have saved you a journey.”
I laughed as the neddle went in and began draining my lifes blood.
“Well, that’s men for you. If they can get someone else to do their dirty work for them they will.”
“Bone idle,” Violet chipped in, “that’s what I call it! Right my dear,” she contiued, “that’s that done, the results will be back next week, so if you’d like to make an appointment with McGivitup at reception.”
I pulled my sleeves down over my newly plastered arm and got up to leave.
“Thank you Violet, you take care now.” I said as I left.
“You too.” Came her reply.
ONE WEEK LATER.
A week to the day and there I was again, sat waiting to see McGivitup.
My lump had gone, as I knew it would, but I was still apprehensive. Not because I thought he was going to tell me anything dire. No, I was more concerned about what his bloody tests would reveal about me, the hidden me! And more to the point, what would he he have to say about what I was certain he’d discovered!
As usual I’d set out early for the surgery, reason being, I live a good mile away and not being a petrol guzzling, bone idle, planet pollutor, I walk most places. When walking, you tend to bump into one or more of the elderly residents that our village boasts. So, I always like to leave enough time for an unforseen chat. Well, you have to don’t you? I mean, what sort of world would it be if you couldn’t spare a few moments of your time to pass pleasantries with someone who might otherwise not see a living soul all day? We all know the answer to that one, so come on dear reader, sort it. However, just for a change I’d met no-one along the way and had consequently been sat waiting for bloody ages! It didn’t help that they were running twenty minutes late. The longer I sat living in my own head, the more nervous I became. I could literally feel the old arteries tensing up. I knew my blood pressure would be sky high. As is always the case, the more I told myself to calm down, the more wound up I became!
I just knew McGivitup was going to home in on the blood pressure thing, so I cast my mind back, attempting to remember any little porkies I might have told in order to keep a lid on the real story.
It was earlier in the year, some four months before, that I’d gone to see the practise nurse for a routine check up. It was an annual event.
“Good grief Constantine,” she’d said on weighing me, “your thirteen and a half stone! That’s a stone and a half you’ve put on since last year.”
She scanned through her file.
“And you’d gained a stone and a half the year before that. That’s three stone you’ve put on in two years, what’s going on?”
I’d shrugged my shoulders as if to say, I haven’t the foggiest. I had the foggiest but I wasn’t telling.
Next it had been blood pressure testing time. It was on the high side she’d informed me. She had me going back to have it tested three days on the trot before telling me to see a doctor because it needed investigating!
Meanwhile she asked me the dreaded question…are you still a non smoker?
I’d given up a whole year before that meeting and had stuck it out for nine long months before caving. And to be honest, it was little short of a miracle I’d stuck it out that long.
I’ve given up smoking more times than you’ve had hot dinners! I’m what you might call the original addict.
Like this is the person that went to New York with Steve Wright. Yeah, the Steve Wright, formally of radio one fame, now of radio two and top of the pops two. But I’ll reveal all soon enough being the sinner I am…sorry Stevie babes but your numbers up, it’s the revelations game we’re playing here!
Still, needless to say, I spent a brilliantly outrageous weekend in New York with Steve Wright but, while on the outbound, eight hour, flight, travelling ambassador of course, only the best will do when travelling with Stevie babes, we were shoved into a non smoking bit…just as well really because some idiot had left her skins and baccy in a bag that went where she didn’t! I tell you, I’d have gone absolutely screwball raving mad if some bastard had sat there blowing smoke in my face when I couldn’t blow it anywhere!
This is no word of a lie, by the time we got to Kennedy, I was on my knees, I was gasping!
Now this was where I really showed my companion up. I started eyeing up all the tab ends that littered the floor…rich place America, most were only half smoked…it was hell, all that weed floating about down there and me absolutely desperate for a fix of the stuff!
I just said, “look pal, it’s like this, either you find a fag machine pretty damn quick, or I’m going to start grovelling on the floor smoking fag ends!”
It must have been said with conviction and the backing of eight hours solid whine, because I was believed.
All I saw was a pair of heels hurtling off into the distance, then a pair of toe caps coming back…I never looked up see, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the veritable little gold mine that belonged to me if the fag machine search proved futile! I’d even given a vagrant the evil eye because he’d been getting his sweaty little mits too close to what I considered to be my stash!
But, toe caps appeared, goal was achieved…seven fags later, all at once, I found composure.
Now that is what I call addiction!
I came clean and admitted I’d failed in my battle with the final temptation…again!
I was now a secret smoker!
“What your family don’t know?” She’d looked amazed.
“Well I’m ashamed of it aren’t I!” I snapped feeling got at.
“So how many are you smoking a day?” She asked.
“It depends on the day,” I’d replied, “I only ever do it when I take the dog out, so usually three or four. On the odd occasion the poor animal ends up totally knackered!”
That brought a smile to her face.
“So what possessed you to start again you silly girl?”
“Oh, we had a family crisis,” I lied, we’d had no such thing, at least nothing I couldn’t cope with.
No, my reason for resuming the filthy habit was to make a part of me work, an important part that point blankly refused to function without its nicotine hit!
I was snapped out of my thoughts.
“Constantine Payne to see McGivitup please.” Rang out over the tannoy.
I tensed anew, my blood pressure was just rocketing, I knew!
He’s only a bloody doctor, I told myself as I made my way.
It didn’t help.
He was only a bloody doctor who was about to probe and intrude into my private little world, I didn’t like it.
I tried to compose myself before I entered his consulting room.
I wasn’t successful.
“Hi Constantine,” McGivitup greeted me with what I perceived to be a scowl of newly discovered knowledge.
He gestured for me to sit down as I was obviously reluctant.
Once in the passenger seat, he eyeballed me with what I imagined was inside information of all my nasty little habits!
“How’s the neck?” He asked.
I smiled with false bravado as I swept back my hair with a flourish.
“It’s gone,” I declared, “after I saw you last week, I visited Violet as instructed, then when I got home after seeing her I promptly developed a sore throat with a fever, alternating with the shivers. It lasted a couple of days and then it went, along with the lump.” I spluttered out all in a nervous hurry.
I then made a half hearted attempt to rise, hopeful of an escape now that the original problem had gone away.
No such luck!
I was landed with the most dedicated, thourough, wholeheartedly enthusiastic, single mindedly zealous, caringly devoted, doctor of doctordom!
“I’ve got the results of your bloods,” he declared, as I sank back in my seat, silently cursing Him upstairs for landing me with this saint of medical efficiency.
I was a fly caught in the docs web and he was about to move in for the kill. Maybe kill is the wrong word…he was moving in for the cure and I could tell he meant business!
My cover was about to be blown.
McGivitup was now the poker player with all the aces in his hands.
He set his gaze on his computer screen and began to seal the doom on all the habits that held my precarious existance together!
“Tyroid…normal. Kidneys… normal.” He paused between each test and result for effect. “Your not menopausal, I know you raised concerns that you might be with Dr. Ravon, so I took the oppurtunity to check it out for you.” He looked me in the eye. “Theoretically at fortyseven you are too young for the menopause, but it’s not unheard of. You are not diabetic. Cholesterol…” he looked me in the eye again, “you rate with the national average but, the national average is on the high side, you need to cut down on fat and dairy produce.”
“Well that’s what comes of being married to a chef,” I cut in, “fat and cream are sloshed about with wild abandon. I was a sleek nine and a half stone until I met him.”
“So what is your weight now?” He quizzed, leaning back to look at me.
Shit…I fell right into that one!
“I daren’t tell you.” I replied honestly.
“You don’t need to,” he shot back, “it’s here on my screen.” He homed in on the screen. “Your weight four months ago was thirteen and a half stone, compared to ten and a half stone two years ago.”
I felt like crawling into a hole.
“And you’ve started smoking again?”
He was looking at me with concern and confusion etched on his brow.
“That’s it!” I stated, attempting to defuse the moment, “the chef is banned from my kitchen from here on in!”
“The enzymes in your liver suggest regular alcohol consumption.”
I was desperately wishing the ground would open up and swallow me out of the presence of this probing man! I was viewing him as some sort of God figure, sat in condemnation of the many causes of my condition. But that was just my paranoia coming through. He was actually puzzled by his findings and if I’m honest, I could see the concern in his eyes as he struggled to mentally work out how to address this new information and the possible hidden troubles that had caused these dramatic changes in his patients health.
He obviously decided to leave it for the time being…but I felt the full weight of the hammer, poised, ready to drop, who knew when?
He pressed on.
“Right let’s see how your blood pressure is doing.”
The old white coat syndrome kicked in, just to elevate a bit more, what I already knew was alarmingly off the scale blood pressure.
“If you would just roll your sleve up for me please.” He said, leaning in to wrap the cuff around my upper left arm.
I thought about mentioning the water tablets I was reluctantly taking, that had been prescribed by Dr. Ravon, then decided against it. McGivitup was set on his own mission now, he wouldn’t be thrown off course just because I happened to mention the matter was in hand, I was already being treated by Ravon.
The pressure band began to swell around my upper arm as I desperately attempted to calm my state of high tension. And just as I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, they did!
McGivitup dropped his bomb shell.
“Do you have a drink problem Constantine?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
If I’d thought I was already as pent up as I could possibly be, I was wrong! Every muscle in my body went rigid!
“No, it’s sleeping I have a problem with.” I answered him honestly, “I drink to sleep.”
He remained silent, digesting this new information. Then the pressure band hissed its release of air, as McGivitup scrutinised the monitor.
“It’s high, very high.” He stated.
Tell me something I don’t know, I thought.
“Hypertensive in fact. The water tablets Dr. Ravon prescribed are not controlling the situation.”
Oh, so he knew about the water tablets!
He sat back as he flicked through his computer, obviously searching for a solution.
He found one.
“You don’t have asthma,” he asked as he turned towards me, ” or any form of respiratory disease do you?”
I shook my head.
“Right, I’d like you to try atenolol, it’s a beta blocker. Use it in conjunction with the water tablets.”
He was on a roll.
“Now these things bring your blood pressure down quickly.”
He held warning in his eyes as they penetrated mine.
“So take the first tablet tonight just before you settle down to sleep, otherwise you might get dizzy, or even pass out! After that, take one each morning along with the water tablet.”
He picked up on my despondent body language.
“Have you a problem with this Constantine?”
“Oh it’s just pharmacuticals I have a problem with. I’m not at all keen on man made medicines.”
“I wouldn’t be prescribing anything if I thought it was dagerous Constantine. And as things stand at present, it is more dangerous for you not to control this situation. Hypertension is called the silent killer because it shows no symptoms. It is generally picked up, like yours was, on a routine check. But, if you have hypertension, you are more at risk of suffering a heart attack or a stroke! This drug will eliminate that risk by bringing your blood pressure down.”
“Yeah, but there are still risks, not everyone is compatable to certain drugs, I mean, people have been known to die! And then there are the side effects.”
“I was just about to address that issue. I’m not saying they are free from side effects,” McGivitup explained, “but, the majority of people find this drug works well with no adverse results, others suffer from mild reactions. A handful of people suffer a sever reaction but, these are very few and far between and are usually spotted in the first few days of being prescribed, in which case the drugs is simply discontinued.”
I nodded solemnly.
“I would strongly advise you to give it a try. If it doesn’t suit you we’ll try something else.”
I suddenly brightened as a thought hit me…but I’ll tell you about that thought later.
“Yeah okay.” I conceded.
He tapped away on his computer to send the prescription through to the dispencery.
“Oh…and cut back on the alcohol…drastically!” He casually threw in.
My sudden brightness just as suddenly dimmed.
“I’d like you to come and see me again next week so we can check how your doing.” He continued calmly, as if the former words had never been uttered. “If you have any problems before then, don’t hesitate to come and see me, okay?”
“Yeah great, I’ll see you the week before we go on holiday then.” I beamed, bravely trying to cover my embarrassment.
He looked interested.
“Oh right, where are you going?”
“Bonny Scotland, the whole kit and kaboodle of us, four kids, four grandkids, all to be forced to enjoy themselves climbing big hills with the two oldies.”
He cast me a glance that wasn’t so much envy as more longing. I knew he was a seriously overworked, stressed man. He was in need of some serious chill time I mentally noted.
After I’d picked up my prescription from the dispencery, which was in the same building, I headed for home.
I barely noticed my surroundings as I walked, so deep in thought was I. My conscience was playing up as regarded my initial glee at the thought of drug induced normal blood pressure. Especially as the doc had made it quite plane that I should ‘dry up’ as it were.
You don’t get it?
Unfortunately I did!
You see, since I’d been diagnosed with this condition, I’d done a lot of reading up on the subject. What I had come to learn was the fact that my high blood pressure was highly likely to be alcohol induced! If I stopped drinking, it was a distinct possibility that my blood pressure would return to normal within a week.
Although I hadn’t put that theory to the test, I was pretty certain it would prove to be the case.
And now I knew the doc was obviously thinking along the same lines.
But meanwhile, he had just given me free reign to carry on imbibing in the old fruits of the vine, while maintaining normal blood pressure, albeit drug induced.
What a dilemma!