I am about to ignore the advice of my doctor. Again. Really, he deserves better. Randall Casper, M.D., is a gentle, matter-of-fact fellow who has been our trusted family physician since the day he saved my grandfather's life by making a diagnosis other docs had missed. For years he has treated me with professionalism and patience, and now I am about to walk out of the examination room and leave his prescription on the desk.
Like millions of other American men, I have high cholesterol. When I had my levels checked for the first time 7 years ago, my HDL (good) cholesterol was a healthy 50 milligrams per deciliter (mg/dl), but my LDL (bad) cholesterol was 142 mg/dl—borderline high, according to the American Heart Association. I told Dr. Casper I would improve my diet and I resolved to eat nothing but alfalfa sprouts and apple wedges from that day forward.
Nineteen months later, my LDL had climbed to 151 mg/dl. "I know you're trying to eat better," said Dr. Casper, kindly ignoring all evidence to the contrary, "but this is really reaching the point where you should consider a cholesterol-lowering medication." I crossed my heart and swore this time I'd kick the Little Debbie cakes forever. Then I avoided having my cholesterol checked for another 3 1/2 years.
Now I'm back in his office.
It's not good.
"Your LDL cholesterol is up to 175," he says. Jiminy. All my celery-stick promises, down a greasy drain.
Dr. Casper raises his gaze, and I feel a little prickle of embarrassment. After a pair of second chances, I'm the kid who brought home his third bad report card, and we both know what's coming next. "I really think you need to start on a statin," he says. The prescription pad is right there on the table. He's toying with the pen in his pocket.
I say I'll get back to him.
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