One morning, in cold blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree; — hung it with tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; — hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; — hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin — a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it — if such a thing were possible — even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.

Edgar Allen Poe, "The Black Cat"

Tuesday.

After a long day at work I drove nearly a full hour to the hospital in Davis to work out. When I entered the cardiac rehab room, where those who participate in the Healthy Weight Program work out, I told the trainer that my gout was flaring up pretty badly and that I would not feel comfortable on the treadmill that day. I wanted to stay on the elliptical walker and possibly the stepmill and stationary bicycles. The trainer agreed that it was a good plan, so after ten minutes of stretching and chatting with the other members of the program, I got on to the elliptical walker and began to do my routine.

Twenty-five minutes into it, I had to stop. One of the trainers was telling an amusing story about something that had happened to him in San Diego, but I could not concentrate; I had become overwhelmingly nauseous. I excused myself, and went into the bathroom and kneeled over the toilet for a good five minutes, my stomach trying to heave up its contents but not quite making it. When at last I gave up, I went back out. My blood pressure was taken — it was low, normal numbers for a normal person, but alarmingly low for someone who tends to run a little hypertensive like me. The trainer told me to rest and to head home when I felt more steady. I agreed.

But that’s when I started having chest pains. The trainer was alarmed and walked me to the emergency room. The doctors looked at me, prodded my sternum, took a chest X-Ray, did an EKG. My chest X-Ray looked normal (though the doctor expressed concern over some patches she found on my lungs near my heart, then suggested that it was probably just scar tissue left over from thirty years of asthma — it didn’t look serious, certainly nothing like pneumonia), and my EKG was normal. The doctor said it was Reflux and sent me home to a Jennifer who was worried that I was an hour later than I had said I would be.

Wednesday.

A pretty normal day. My gout is still flaring up but not overwhelmingly so. I thought that maybe I’d go work out again that night. Circumstances being as they sometimes are, I couldn’t find time that night, and I went home to Jennifer, who was sick with a cold. We had visited the house and observed its progress. I had slight nausea during the day and didn’t eat much, but I didn’t worry about it.

This morning.

I woke up with a migraine. Not a killer one, not painful enough to keep my home, but bad. But on top of the migraine, the gout in my right foot was flaring badly, to the point where I nearly cried out whenever I stepped on it. Jennifer and I drove to Starbuck’s in separate cars, as we often do before work, and the pain was enough to make me cry out every time I stepped on the brake pedal at every stop sign and red light. After our breakfast, a latté and a scone, I decided that I’d better work from home today and try to get an appointment with my doctor.

Throughout the day, things got worse. My head continued to throb, my foot continued to pain me. I called the doctor’s office and made an appointment for this evening at 5:40. I also called the pharmacy and refilled a number of prescriptions.

This evening.

The doctor looks at my foot and says, "Yep, that’s gout." She prescribed some medication for me, something that apparently has some nasty side effects. I told her about what had happened at the workout room on Tuesday night, and she expressed concern that my heart rate slows down and my blood pressure drops whenever I work out. "It’s not normal," she said, and told me that she thought I might have a blockage near my heart. We scheduled an appointment for a treadmill test in early May, just to make sure.

I drove from the doctor’s office to meet Jennifer at our weekly Weight Watcher’s meeting. I’d lost ten pounds over the past month; good news. Then I told Jennifer what the doctor had told me. "Did you ask about biofeedback?" she asked, reminding me that I had thought to do that to help my migraines and my gout and my blood pressure. "No," I told her. "I was too busy freaking out."

After the meeting, I drove to choir practice in Dixon, meeting Jennifer’s parents. Her father agreed to assist me in purchasing Jennifer’s wedding gift, and her mother complimented me on my weight loss — more good news. But during practice I began to feel faint and nauseous. My asthma began to flare, and my foot began to throb.

I wished for one day when I wasn’t dealing with asthma, hypertension, migraine, gout… or anything else.

After choir practice, I left the church, shivering. I’d started having chills. I turned the heater in my car up to full blast, and that helped. Then I drove to the pharmacy and spent sixty-five dollars on medications to keep me breathing, medications to keep my head pains low, medications to keep my heart pumping at normal pressure. The gout medication was new, and the pharmacist needed to do a consultation.

"Look at the instructions," he said. "Take two tablets now, and one tablet every one to two hours thereafter until you experience relief of pain or until you start vomiting. Hopefully," he added with a wry grin, "you’ll experience relief before you experience vomiting."

I thanked the pharmacist. Then I made one more purchase and I left and headed out to my car.

Inside my car, I unwrapped the candy bar I’d bought and ate it. It had chocolate, coconut, and a cherry filling; three of my favorite flavors. I have no idea how many calories were in it, nor how many grams of fat, nor whether it had any dietary fiber — I crumpled up the wrapper and threw it away before even looking at the label. I couldn’t calculate the points on it, so I had no idea if it would be detrimental to my weight loss. I didn’t care.

Poe’s Imp of the Perverse took over. I bought the candy and ate it for no other reason than because I knew it was bad for me, because it was loaded with calories and fat and probably bad for my heart, if I do indeed have a blockage.

That’s why I ate it.

Candy never tasted so sweet.