A Salty Topic to Chew On

I'm feeling pretty perky today. I would say I'm walking on clouds, except my fear of heights turns that old expression upside down.

Just had my three-month follow-up visit at the cardiologist's following a cryosurgery procedure on May 17th to disable the source of irregular electrical impulses that cause atrial fibrillation. My numbers are good, I feel great, and I'm down to two prescription drugs from the six I'd been taking for the last nine months.

The original a-fib discovery snuck up on me last November, then took my doctors by surprise, too, when it landed me in the hospital four weeks later. Since then, I've slowly worked my way back to a full exercise regimen. I've also done a bit of soul-searching.

The diagnosis rattled me because sixteen years ago I'd made a solid commitment to healthful habits: plenty of physical activity; stress management; a ban on diet Pepsi; nutritionally dense food choices. The one thing I never got a handle on was my salt addiction. I simply craved the stuff, and since my blood pressure was 90/60, I figured the general warnings didn't apply to me. "Salt is my one remaining dietary indulgence," I used to tell concerned friends.

Fast-forward to 12/7/21. Upon release from the hospital, I am told to limit my sodium intake to 2300 milligrams per day. That's a scant teaspoon of salt. Gasp. I can control what goes into my standard home-cooked meals, but I've learned there's also significant sodium in everything from bread to cottage cheese.

Now, suddenly, brown rice tasted like Styrofoam. A turkey patty, like ground cardboard. My morning oatmeal, like wallpaper paste. Reeducating my taste buds was going to take some time.

This situation brought to mind an old story about the quandary of a clean-living woman whose health began to fail. When medical treatment didn't help, she was advised that her last hope was to give up all vices—of which she had none. Regarding this doomed soul, Mark Twain quipped, "A person with no bad habits is like a sinking ship with no freight to throw overboard."

Luckily, I still had my overuse of salt as ballast to unload!

And if you are sitting there thinking, Yeah, but maybe that bad habit paved the path to this heart problem of yours, I am not listening. I am singing at full volume, "La, la, la, la, la," or whatever it is you chant when you're a six-year-old with your fingers in your ears.

Being closer to twelve-times-six, I'm old enough to have learned that self-shaming is counter-productive. And wise enough (most days) to appreciate how very blessed I am. Excellent medical care, access to life-saving medications, a reprieve from a frightening health crisis.

But as a recovering salt addict, I beg you not to scold if you see me eating a bag of popcorn. I mean, nobody's 100% conscientious 100% of the time. Except that unfortunate gal Mark Twain was talking about.