Good news on the medical front.
I already told you about my most recent health bout in no carbs -- day whatever. Actually, it is the same health issue I brought south with me -- high triglyceride levels. But the levels have remained persistently high during my life in Mexico. Stratospherically high.
My doctor has been positive that each new medication would make a difference. But my blood continued to run as thick as the oil that may one day fill the Keystone pipeline.
That worried Dra. Rosa enough that she thought one of my organs might be a problem. First, it was the liver. But the results showed I had the liver of a 20-year old (and I am not giving it back even if they find the body). Second, was my thyroid. But no Marty Feldman eyes for me. My thyroid was firing on all 12 cylinders.
So, we were back to trying new drugs. I stumbled across a medication in a Yucatán pharmacy just about the same time Dra. Rosa chose it to be my next test drug: Vytorin.
But this was going to be a drug and food test. I was to eat as few carbohydrates as I could. For me, that was similar to saying: "Stop enjoying food."
Amazingly, I not only managed to regularly take my drugs, but I almost eliminated all carbohydrates from my plate for two weeks. It was not easy. Having Darrel here helped. I can lie to myself. But my brother is his brother's keeper.
First thing yesterday I trotted on down to the laboratory for a blood draw to see if there is truly any profit in sacrifice. Then, when we returned from a brief trip to La Manzanilla, Darrel and I stopped by the laboratory to take the tests results to my doctor.
The verdict? In two weeks, something worked. Either the medication or the restricted carbohydrates or both. My triglycerides are at 157. Perfect for these parts.
And my doctor's recommendation? Stay off of as many carbohydrates as possible -- and keep taking the medication.
I think I can do that. Even though I did not start my new regime with high compliance. My celebration lunch was a very indifferent plate of spaghetti Bolognese (or what passes for Bolognese in these parts -- a chopped up hamburger patty tarted up with tomato sauce).
At least, it was not eggs.