His blood pressure was up. I soon found out why.
It was a normal routine follow up visit for a chronic condition, but this time his blood pressure was higher than usual.
“I’m angry,” he said. “I’m upset and angry and I’m letting it get to me.”
I was preparing to ask more about the details when he spilled the whole story.
“It’s just not fair. Not fair at all. It’s the dadgum presidential election and the people of Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina get to choose who we pick from.”
“Come again?” I asked.
“The primaries!” he said emphatically. “There were a blue million Republican candidates to start out with and now they are practically saying it is down to three. That ain’t fair. Not fair at all. Who put them in charge of picking?”
He went on. I wasn’t sure if this was helping or hurting his blood pressure.
“There’s a little over three hundred million people in this country. There are three million people in Iowa, a little over a million in New Hampshire and nearly five million in South Carolina. That’s nine million people getting to choose who the other two hundred ninety million vote for.”
“Furthermore,” he continued’ “Out of that, there were a hundred eighty-six thousand who voted, or caucused, whatever that it, in Iowa, five hundred thirty-eight thousand in New Hampshire, and seven hundred thirty-seven in South Carolina. ‘Publicans, of course, I don’t care about the Democrats.”
“You memorized the numbers?” I asked.
“Yep, that’s how disgusted I am,” he replied.
“How much are you watching this on TV?”
“Too much, according to my wife. I keep it on Fox News at night. Their anchor ladies are much more attractive than CNN’s and certainly better looking than that liberal MSNBC.”
“Furthermore,” he continued, “why do we give these politicians and extra day to campaign, anyhow? You know, Leap Year. We give them an extra day of the year to campaign every four years.”
“So who do you wish was still in the race?” I asked.
“Christie. Chris Christie. Dadgum, I was really hoping he’d win. I don’t know much about his politics, but he would have made it cool to be fat again. And Carly what’s-her-name, Ferrari, no, Fiorina, yeah, that’s it. Loved her. She looked just like Margaret Thatcher when she directly answered questions and always seemed to be the smart girl in a class of dumb boys.”
“Bush?” I asked.
“No, didn’t really get too excited about him. Voting for him would be like ordering a bowl of oatmeal at the Shoney’s breakfast bar. Maybe a good healthy choice, but not very exciting when you’re looking at the bacon, eggs, and ham. You know, like Christie.”
“So, are you still going to vote?”
“Yes, I guess so,” he said. “You know I’d have voted for Dr. Carson if he was still in it.”
“He’s still in the race”
“He is? Well he’s mighty quiet, then. I don’t know. You know physicians can be a moody, dictatorial, and hardly know a lick about finances. No offense, of course.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“So, I guess my choice is down to the U-Boys.”
“The what?” I asked.
“You know, they all have a ‘u’ in their names. Trump, Cruz, or Rubio. What is it with Republicans and having a ‘u’ in their name? Poor old Kasich should change his name to Cusick so he can fit in. I don’t know if I can vote for Trump. He sure has given the Republicans a good education, but his dang temper scares me. If I could vote for Trump and Dr. Carson would carry the nuclear codes - I might could go for that.”
He went on. “And those stupid debates. You hardly learn anything about them. They ought to sit the candidates down at a card table with a game of Monopoly, a banker, no moderator, then let them go at it. We’d learn a lot more about the candidates through that than the stuffy debates.”
“You know you have a problem,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yes, it’s time for you to put down the remote. Your blood pressure is up and your wife told me you are driving her crazy yelling at the TV,” I replied. “Maybe it’s time for you to watch Andy Griffith, or turn off the TV completely and read, get some exercise, and see if your blood pressure at home comes down. If not, I’ll have to add another pill to your collection.”
“Okay. You’re right. I’ll turn it off. Let’s give it a few months and I’ll follow my blood pressure at home. I’ll miss Megan Kelly and even Judge Judy, but I don’t want another pill.”
“Alright,” I said. “I’ll ask the ladies up front to make your appointment as you check out.”
“Great. Just don’t make it the week of the Republican Convention.”
Eric J. Littleton, M.D. (@DrEricLittleton) is a Family Physician in Sevierville, TN. His office is in the UT Regional Health Center Sevierville at 1130 Middle Creek Road. Topics covered are general in nature and should not be used to change medical treatments and/or plans without first discussing with your physician. Send questions to askdrlittleton@gmail.com
