Geoff Dyer at The London Review of Books:
It seemed inconceivable that I could have had a stroke. I was 55, way too young, and of all of my contemporaries I would have put myself last in line for such a thing. I’d never had a cigarette. I drank a fair bit, but less than many of my friends, and was drinking less with every year. I actively disliked all the foods you’re meant to avoid. Except doughnuts and croissants. I’d always eaten a lot of pastries and in New York my doughnut habit had got, well, not out of control exactly but I was doing one a day for four months. Twice a week I had a couple of poached eggs, but what did that count for in the face of the overwhelming healthiness of my life?
‘Well, something,’ the neurologist called to tell me the following day, ‘has sent your cholesterol though the roof.’ Instead of twenty milligrams of Lipitor I should double the dose to bring it down as quickly as possible. After speaking to him I remembered that, fifteen years ago in England, my GP had said that my cholesterol was a little high. I paid it no mind, moved to a different part of London, signed on with another doctor. As far as I could recall my cholesterol had never been tested again. Until now. Now I’d joined the great American statin-dependent democracy, was being welcomed into the community of stroke victims as featured in a clutch of nicely produced brochures.
more here.
