Shame

So I have some blood pressure problems. It's been creeping up over the past year. Clearly, I'm worried about it, but it hasn't been such a big deal.  I started with some low doses of a hypertension medication that have stabilized my pressure levels without any notable side effects. But I had to go back to the dentist today. The dentist, since they take my blood pressure every time I go in, essentially convinced me to seek out a doctor's advice. I'm self-conscious about this viewing of my vital signs--literally the internal me--and I wanted to be sure they wouldn't get their "aha" moment again with yet another high reading.

So I called in the heavy hitter to keep the pressure down.  I took a beta blocker.  My doctor gave me this as a backup, something that will provide more blanket protection in cases of high stress and hypertension.   I don't like going to the dentist and having to admit teeth brushing faults is only compounded by the potential failure of keeping my blood pressure down.

I'm at the dentist for a routine cleaning and I tell them about my new medication, but I don't admit to taking the beta blocker that morning.  Why should I muddy the waters, admit to CARING about what they see in me?  In the midst of this exercise it comes out that it would be different if I were taking beta blockers, which are contraindicated for local anesthesia.  At this point, I continue to say nothing about the beta blocker in my system.

It's decided that they have time to fill in a small filling that recently came loose, but it's likely to require only a topical anesthetic, not something like lidocaine.  And again, I rationalize a way to say nothing about the beta blocker.

I'm surprised that the first thing the dentist does is pull out the big needle of Lidocaine.  At this point, I really should be saying something about the beta blocker.  I now know it is contraindicated for the very thing she is about to do.  But I'm silent.  As she numbs my gum, I assess my state of health.  Am I having any trouble breathing, is that a burning sensation moving up my chest?  Still, I'm now too ashamed to say anything.  Not only do I have the original shame of the fact that I took the damn stuff to begin with, but now I'm shamed that I haven't said anything until now.   I'm in the room alone for the next 10 minutes wondering whether I can squeeze out a yell as I go into cardiac arrest.

In any case, all is routine, but I do learn later, via google, that there are real risks to this combination of drugs, life-threatening risks. What can I say? That I've kept my pride somehow? Avoided being publicly shamed?  It all seems pretty pitiful now.  But who can ever be completely honest with a doctor and their nosy assistants?