I decided to strap my Fitbit back on and get a bit more active. I don’t think it’s necessary but I always feel accountable when it’s tied around my wrist. I swear this post is about laughing, it just starts weird. Like all my other posts…
Anyway, I was curious as to what my average heart rate was.
Because I’m strange.
I found out that my heart rate kept peaking at unusual times of the day, times where I was usually glued to my desk and not on a treadmill. So, of course, I started to panic. Have all those Oreos and cups of coffee finally come back to haunt me?
Is this how heart disease starts?
I started freaking out. In retrospect, I’m not sure why but I think it’s in my nature to panic. 2018 goals.
I decided that now was the time to get a check up, go to the doctor and figure out what heart condition I was going to live with. I excel-sheeted all the data I had from the plethora of apps I downloaded, ready to present the doctor.
After checking my blood pressure (normal), getting lab results back (normal), getting the shrug from doctors and consoling Web MD a trillion times a day, I decided to be find out what this strange abnormality was, in the only way I knew how to: by embodying the spirit of Lieutenant Columbo.
I worked backwards, trying to make connections with the peaks and who I was talking to or what I was doing. I interviewed friends, dusted for clues and chewed on my pretend cigar.
Turns out, I was either reading emails/messages from friends or on Skype calls with my friend Shahiné during my breaks.
This made me realise something about the world we live in today and the amount of access we have to information. My first thought after looking at my heart rate data was that something was inherently wrong, even though I felt perfectly fine. During this whole debacle, I never thought that it could be something positive.
I had all this information at my finger tips and it didn’t necessarily make me smarter, it actually nurtured my hypochondria.
I could list “breathing” as a symptom and I’m sure WebMD would suggest that I had a tumour in my prefrontal cortex.
Had I just taken a step back and Columbo’ed before going to the doc’s, it wouldn’t have been difficult to find out that my fits of laughter were the reasons behind my spikes and even if that means that there is something wrong, I’m not going to stop laughing. I couldn’t if I tried.
I want this type of thinking to change. That my balance shifts towards “something’s wrong” as opposed to “everything’s okay”.
So, in honour of this post, I’m going to surf the web for my hilarious treasures that I can one day share with you all.
Over and out.