FOREVER BY WILLIAM THOMAS
Thanks to Cholesterol, I’m Leading a Fat-free, Fun-free Life
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o, my good friend Dave “The Doc” calls one evening. He says he’s uncorking a bottle of Lagavulin and could I come over. I scared him when I pressed my face against the glass of his kitchen window while he was still holding the phone, waiting for an answer. As we sit at the table overlooking the lake, Dave pours a splash of the Islay Gold into a snifter. He swirls it and tastes it. “Outstanding,” he says. “Where’s mine?” I ask. “You don’t get any,” he says. “Your cholesterol’s too high. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” When it comes to cholesterol, Dave is one gigantic pain at the end of the alimentary canal. In these parts, Dave is known as the “Cholesterol Killer.” When Dave enters a room, even the little globs of cholesterol in other people’s bloodstreams scream and squirm, then they run for cover in a small cave behind the pancreas. Dave proceeded to tell me that my recent blood test showed my HDLs or good cholesterol to be outstanding, one of the best he’s ever seen. But my LDLs, in a moderate risk position two years ago, are now over the top. In its simplest form, this cholesterol thing is like life: your HDs or Happy Do-gooders swim through your blood stream minding their own business but under constant attack from your LDs or Lowlife Dweebs. When there are more bad guys than good guys, evil triumphs and you die. When there are more good guys than bad guys, the HDs win a stay of execution and you die later on. “But Dave,” I protested, “I play tennis and I walk Jake 10 or 12 hours each week.” “That’s great,” said Dave. “Your dog is going to outlive you. Now, here’s what we’re going to do.” So, Dave outlined what I can and cannot eat and drink for the next couple of months, or the rest of my life, whichever comes first. And I must say it’s incredibly easy to distinguish between what’s good and bad for me. The rule is, if it has flavour or is in any way appealing – I can’t have it. Everything else, including bottled water and lettuce baked
in sesame oil is fine. Oh, and I can have any “meat on the hoof” because as Dave says, I probably can’t catch it and kill it anyway. I can have one ballpark hotdog a year, provided I’m strapped to the gurney in the ambulance at the rear exit of the stadium. “What kind of milk do you drink?” asked Dave. “I’m down to 2%,” I said. Dave laughed for the first time since I walked in. “No, no, no, skim milk from now on,” he said. That’s the bluish, slightly white water that looks and tastes like bluish, slightly white water, but is clearly stamped “MILK” on the carton. “Well gee, Dave,” I said, “why don’t I just take some blackboard chalk, dissolve it in water and drink that?” He thought about it and said: “No. It’s too high in calcium.” Man, this guy’s tough! As he made a knife and fork cutting motion, Dave said: “It’s simple – you cut this stuff out, or I will.” Summer, the time of year I would normally be scouting for a cheap ticket to some southern European destination, imagining hiking up to a cliff by the sea and hauling out bread and cheese, hard sausage and smoked ham from my knapsack. Instead, I’m looking at an all-inclusive package in the States to – I’m not making this up – a fat-free, lowcost Seventh Day Adventist health farm in Utah. Boy, if you think I’m irritable now, wait until I’m healthy, sober and religious. One good shot of larceny and I’m a televangelist! Okay Dave, we’ll do it your way. And I’m starting by destroying my personal single malt Scotch collection, one snifter at a time. And let this be a warning to all men over 60 years of age who have enjoyed the good life – your arteries are the only part of your body getting harder, okay? P.S. One barbecue for sale; few accessories but many SL memories. Cheap. William Thomas is the author of nine books of humour including Margaret and Me about his wee Irish mother. www.williamthomas.ca DEC 2008 / JAN 2009
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