One twenty over eighty Systolic / Diastolic— I’m watching the machine. I like the sound and science of it and have one of my own. At times I almost hear the whoosh along the arteries, the stall between the beats. One twenty over eighty is what the world prefers, discounting intervention. I look on with bemusement at how the readings vary. Three times, maybe four, I wrap the cuff around my arm; then slyly note the lowest pair of numbers in my diary. I know about the weirdness of white-coat hypertension but here there can be none of that,…
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