Somewhere in the 40’s I began to hear about LDL’s and HDL’s. Then comes the horrific day (if you’re me) that some young doctor decides to check your cholesterol level. Oops. Welcome to the world of ‘good cholesterol’ and ‘bad cholesterol’.
I was living my life just fine with fried foods, french fries, and lots of butter. Maybe the scales and I had an issue or two ( 20 or 50 to be more truthful), but nothing life threatening. Then comes along the “40 fall aparts” and that ‘cholesterol’ word.
I’ve gotta tell you this one. My ‘big ole boy’ and I have just been married 2 1/2 yrs. Back when we were talking marriage, I kept joking with him about his size (cuz I’m not kidding when I call him ‘big ole boy’). He’s tall and he’s big, and I like him that way. But, for joking purposes…I kept asking him if he was a heart attack waiting to happen…cuz I wasn’t marrying a heart attack waiting to happen. He has the stature that all the tv shows say is a precursor to heart problems. He promised me that he’s as healthy as an ox (which now that I think about it…how healthy is that?). Anyway, a month after we were married, my doctor slipped in that cholesterol test. I didn’t even know I was getting it. And then comes the phone call. “Michaela, the Dr. needs to see you today!” (strong emphasis on today) Long story short, he tells me the bad stuff is very, very bad. Probably family genetics bad. There is no way eating wrong, lack of excercise, or any other vices I have could have gotten my numbers that high. So, I had to call ‘my big ole boy’….”honey, you know that heart attack I’m always kidding you about…well….”
Which brings me to my quandary. I’m back home after a month away from the hubby. And how do I want to show my man love…cook for him. That’s what he likes, really likes. Especially fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy. It makes my heart warm to cook for him. And here I am frying this chicken feeling so torn, because neither of us needs it, we’ve got to watch the darn LDL levels. And when I’ve been gone, he’s lost weight…and he feels good about it, and I feel good about it.
But, what will I do if I can’t fry him chicken? How will I feel if he doesn’t have brownies to eat in the evenings? Oh, mental anguish. I wonder how Paula Deen works this out? I’ll be thinking about that as I eat my chicken.