I am due to go into hospital soon for another small operation on my hand (it is yet another attempt to halt the remorseless desire of my little fingers to curl in on themselves (a.k.a. Dupuytren's Contracture, a.k.a. Viking Disease)) In preparation for the operation I had to attend the hospital last Friday for a pre-operative assessment. Everything was going well until the nurse took my blood pressure and declared that it was too high, I was given a letter to take back to my GP asking him to start me on a course of antihypertensives and send me back to the hospitals when it was under control. I was reluctant to start taking pills until I was certain that there was a real problem (I am reasonably proud of my pill-free status) so when I got home I started taking my own blood pressure two or three times a day and all readings were well within normal limits. Armed with this evidence I was able to persuade the Practice Nurse to simply re-check my bloods pressure over a three week period before even thinking about antihypertensives. Yesterday she did the first of these three readings and it was well within normal range.
Feeling rather pleased with myself, I came home and found a chap on my doorstep trying to deliver a parcel (later, I couldn't help recalling that he was a tall, dark chap with a swarthy complexion). I signed for the parcel and took it inside only to discover that it was a case of craft beers with the collective title of "The Day Of The Dead Beer Selection". It contained wonderful offerings such as "Death Becomes You" (An ambler American style IPA); "Death Rides A Pale Horse" (A pale blonde beer); and "Hop On Or Die" (A golden hoppy beer). It arrived without any card or note saying who it was from.
I have a suspicion who might have sent it and in that case its arrival during my blood pressure crisis was a complete coincidence. But I can't help wondering whether it is the Grim Reaper sending me a none too subtle message; the thought of which is enough to send my blood pressure sky-high.