You know what’s not a heck of a lot of fun? Wearing a blood-pressure cuff for 24 hours, that’s what. I was hoping they’d have some sleek futuristic version for this, but nope, it’s only slightly thinner than a normal cuff and the meter is only slightly smaller than a normal home sphygmomanometer. The meter is on a webbing belt around my waist and the tube goes under my shirt, up my back, and down my sleeve to the cuff – I may need Ted’s help to get my shirt on tomorrow.

No, no panic is required. MY BP is high-ish, not scary high, and the doctor said, “No, we probably don’t need to worry about it – well, let’s watch it for 24 hours just to be sure.” It checks my BP every 15 minutes today, every hour tonight. Not sure this wil be any help; any time I’m moving or wearing a coat it has to double or triple check and then the rate always seems to read higher.

Also, a coupe of years ago, someone came up with a brilliant analogy for why people of color are so often seen as “touchy”, that I’ve been quoting ever since, the punch-on-the-arm analogy. That’s the one where a friend punches you on the arm, jokingly, and it doesn’t hurt at all, but then they do it 60 seconds later, and then again, and again, and again. After a while you have a sore spot. After a longer while you have a bruise. And then someone else comes along and punches you on the same spot. You holler “OW!” and they’re all “What? what? I didn’t do anything.”

I am now in a position to vouch for the literal truth of that metaphor. Ouch. I bet I do have a bruise.