It started with an argument over my lack of sleep.
I didn’t have to see him to know my friend’s face was cringing as he rubbed his temples with one hand. Given enough time and attention, one gets very good at deciphering the various not-exactly-verbal sounds and gestures someone else makes, especially when frustrated. For example, Bio and I both can ascertain Killer’s mood just by the type of sigh he lets out. Brian and I have been friends for a lot longer, so even over the phone I could tell by the specific deep breaths and half-groans that he was trying very hard not to scream. It was the same sound he makes when he’s describing something one of his children did that he felt was especially bone-headed, but is trying to keep his temper. “What worries me,” he said finally, “is that you play things close to the chest, so if you’re readily admitting this, what is it you’re not saying? Why are you even here today?”
“That’s a silly question,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Because I have work to do.”
“Not a good enough reason. And anyway, what sort of example are you setting? You yell because people aren’t taking care of themselves, but what are you doing? They’re just following your lead.”
Well, crap. That got my attention.
*****
Despite what my friends will tell you, I’m not completely unreasonable. If I’m stubborn about certain things, there’s usually a reason for it, but it’s not terribly difficult to get me to entertain an alternate viewpoint if one can present their argument well. The initial argument, in this case, was one that had started a month prior in my doctor’s office regarding how I responded to a concern about my blood pressure and stress levels – levels that were so high in the office, even after a second check reading, that when my doctor asked if I was having chest pains or shortness of breath and I said no, his response was “Are you sure?”
The argument continued a few weeks later after I’d been tasked with collecting and annotating data points to establish patterns of behavior. A few days into the project, it was clear that the reading in the doctor’s office wasn’t an outlier – something my two sarcastic co-hosts pointed out frequently, just as they had for the previous six months. Still, I had some very good reasons for not wanting to add anything to the morning cocktail. Part of it was a fear from other medications in the past that had done the complete opposite of what they were supposed to do. That, in this case, could be catastrophic. Another, somewhat bigger part, was because we were sure it was a stress response, removing stressors should help drop the pressure.
“And that,” the doctor replied, “is why I had you keep the journal. Because I can’t see you slowing down, and despite your arguments, it is not feasible to fake your own death and live under an assumed name in the Alps.”*
Damn.
Still, I argued. My first thoughts on approaching a problem are always to acquire as much data as possible first before making decisions, which I knew was going to piss a lot of people off in this case. Which is why I didn’t tell them. I cut a deal with my doctor: Six weeks of monitoring, if no improvement then I’d take whatever medicine he told me without fuss. He begrudgingly agreed under the condition that if at any point during that timeframe things got worse, I’d call. This was a reasonable request.
The problem was, as my friend would point out, this was not setting a good example for those I was supposed to be leading. Petra made a good point the last time she came to visit about how when you have a highly visible role, you never know who or how many people will be looking up to you and the example you set. Some of them you do: in my day job, for example, I have proxy management of two older part time employees who absolutely follow everything I do. After hours, there are a number of university students I advise on different things who also use my actions as a template. While flattering, I don’t always think this is a good thing – even as I type, I know Bio’s going to have some choice words with me tomorrow as to why I’m still up writing at two-thirty in the morning instead of sleeping, and that’s not necessarily something I want the younger ones to get in the habit of.
Nor do I want my staffers putting themselves at risk by ignoring what their doctors tell them to do.
*****
Back on the phone, Brian was pressing his case. “As a friend, please, do not screw around with this. It’s not worth it. You don’t have anything to prove, and you know damn well ignoring this is not going to make anything better.” He got quiet for the moment. Thinking. I could hear his chair squeak as he leaned back, then his voice came back on the line. “Jen…” his voice was a little softer, more insistent. “Seriously. Do not screw around with this.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
“Go home.”
“I will after our meeting.”
“And call for the prescription.”
“I will do that first thing in the morning.”
“Today.”
I harrumphed. “Do you want me to sleep or not?”
Another half groan, paired with what sounded like a bottle of aspirin being rattled open. The word “promise” came out more as a command than a question. “No,” he continued after my affirmation, “I want to hear you say the words, so I know you’ll actually do it.”
“Oh my God. Fine. I solemnly promise I will call tomorrow to get the prescription. I will even apologize for being stubborn. Are you happy now?”
“Very.” I could feel the smile from 400 miles away. “Although, I feel kinda bad for your Rivalcast guys.You’re a bear when you’re cranky.”
Now was my turn to rub my temples. “And you guys wonder why I have high blood pressure.”
*****
*Yes, we actually had that conversation.
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