The last time I had my cholesterol checked was in 1995, and a nurse-friend of mine intimated recently that I was being vaguely irresponsible in not checking it more regularly. I hate having blood drawn.

Back in 1995, I regularly obtained meals from the fast food drive-through. I was a working woman, and five days a week, I ate a hot lunch off some menu somewhere. On the weekends, my not-yet-husband and I ate out more often than not. Breakfast at a Jersey diner was routine, and I didn’t even glance at the “heart-healthy” choices.

I can’t remember the exact number, but I think my total cholesterol was about 94. Yes, that’s a two-digit number.

I thanked God and good genes and decided that I was just “blessed” in this regard. I rested assured on the matter for more than ten years. Then over the last year or so, I’d have an occasional nagging doubt. What if there was a mistake? What if the results were inaccurate for some reason? I have convinced myself that no matter how many Big Macs I eat, no matter how often I partake in covered and smothered potatoes, my cholesterol will naturally remain low, but what if I’m wrong? I could be a heart attack waiting to happen, and I don’t even know it.

Finally, the friend’s chastisement convinced me to just do it already. I’m older now, and these levels tend to go up as we age. Sure enough, mine did. To 117.

So, I’m thanking God and god genes, praying the kids take after me and not their dad, and making a mental note to check my cholesterol levels again. Like in ten years.