This article is not about Andy Palacio’s life nor is it about his music. It’s about the way he died. There are all kinds of stories out there – one person who spoke to KREM’s “Two Cents Camera” said that his death was “mysterious”. There was nothing mysterious about the man’s death at all. It’s an all-too predictable end for black and Latino males who are unaware of some of the particular health risks that we face.
I am three months away from my 60th birthday, and were it not for a close friend who happens to be an excellent doctor, were it not for my penchant to read about and learn about everything I can, and were it not for a routine yearly physical exam provided to employees of State Farm Insurance as part of their benefits package, I have no doubt whatsoever that I would not have lived long enough to be writing this today!
Let’s back up to 1979. I was then 31 years old, an athlete from childhood and probably in the best shape of my life. I would run anywhere from 3 to 5 miles 3 or 4 times a week. I worked out with weights, rode a bicycle, played league basketball in Dangriga and worked out regularly with Felix “Focus” Blanco, a Kung Fu master. By the way, those happened to be “full contact” sparring sessions. You paid for your mistakes in spades, trust me! My wife and I would ride from our house at two and one half miles on the Stann Creek Valley road to Forestry at Mile 9 and back. Sometimes we would ride all the way to Pomona at Mile 12. I weighed 185 lbs. and had almost no body fat whatsoever. I was super fine, brother. What could be wrong with me?
Dr. Henry Anderson and his wife Stephanie are our close friends to this day. My wife Diana and Stephanie Anderson are family. We hung out together, partied together and our kids grew up together. One day, it seemed like it came out of the blue, Dr. Anderson asked me how long had it been since my last physical exam. I couldn’t even remember, but something made me look up. There was a kind of urgency in the man’s voice that made me listen closely. The upshot of all of this is that I agreed to see him in his doctor persona, not his “good friend” persona.
The exam revealed a little problem: my blood pressure “was a bit high.” How much that “bit high” was, well….. Mine was160/100! Normal blood pressure is about 120/80. Many supremely fit people read 110/70 or slightly lower! I was supremely fit, wasn’t I? What the f—k was going on?
Dr. Anderson said, “You have ‘essential hypertension.’”
I asked him, “What?” He repeated the phrase.
“What does that mean?” I queried.
He told me, “It means that we don’t know what the hell causes it, but you will have to take medication for the rest of your life because if you don’t, the rest of your life may be very short!”
Then he sat down and explained to me what was happening. As far back as 1979, medical science was already beginning to document conditions that appeared to be ethnically linked, that means to say that certain syndromes were too common in specific ethnic groups for the data to be attributed to mere coincidence. One of the findings appeared to document that vascular diseases – diseases of the circulatory system – were more common, more severe, and occurring at an earlier age in black and Latino males than in other ethnic groups.
The jury is out on at least two levels in that some doctors have pointed out that vascular diseases are definitely linked to stress, and being the victim of racial and ethnic discrimination leads to mucho stress! That argument has real merit. I mean, you have to know how studies that seem to indicate genetic differences which appear to be ethnically linked can be misused by racists who are desperate to seize on anything that could bolster their beliefs. There is another extremely important qualifier. Black and Latino people living in the United States that formed those study groups lag far behind Caucasians when it comes to having equal access to state-of-the-art diagnostic and medical care. What are the reasons for that? C’mon, are you kidding?
Be that as it may, I was diagnosed with hypertension as a 31-year-old. Doc explained that our circulatory system is like a maze of pipelines with the heart serving as the pump. When pressure against the walls of the system gets too high and the blood vessels can’t take the load, the pipe bursts! If the pipe bursts in the brain, it is called a “stroke.” If the pipe is big enough and part of the system that leads directly to the heart, this is one form of a heart attack. The higher the pressure needed to move blood through the system, the harder the pump – your heart – has to work. It can fail from the overload. That’s another very bad thing, because it can kill you!
There are a load of “companion” conditions that help those bad things to happen faster. High cholesterol and high triglycerides narrow the blood vessels by creating fatty deposits along the walls, raising the pressure. Pump water at a constant rate through a pipe and then switch to a narrower pipe while maintaining the same flow of water and see what happens. And then there is another real kicker. It’s called “diabetes.”
Belizeans call diabetes, “sugar.” That’s one hell of a misnomer. Diabetes is a metabolic disease. It affects every organ and every system in the body. The word “diabetes” comes from the Greek language and it translates as “fountain.” That’s an apt description because one of the symptoms of out-of-control diabetes is frequent urination, especially at night. That was one of the tip offs that had me wondering in 1986 when Diana and I were living in LA. The suspicions were confirmed by a company doctor from State Farm Insurance. I was a senior claims adjuster at the time and we were offered a free yearly physical as part of the benefits package available to employees. I was only 38 years old!
I have tried since then to negotiate a bilateral treaty with diabetes, a non-aggression pact if you will. This means that I ride my bicycle to and from work here, from the Southside to Princess Margaret Drive. If I am elsewhere, finding a way to exercise is paramount! It means that I test my glucose at least every morning.
Access to testing equipment is a major issue for Belizeans. The price of a glucose meter in Belize is roughly equivalent to the “vig” or the interest payable to a mob loan shark. One of my meters, the One Touch Ultra, retails for $29.95 when on sale in the States. It sells in Belize for $286.00! Test strips cost roughly the same in America as here – $1.00 US or $2.00 Belize. Considering that testing once a day is the absolute minimum requirement for effective control, and that if a diabetic feels strange during the day or when waking up at night feeling that something is wrong, a glucose test is just about mandatory before you make a decision whether or not to call 911. No wonder the casualty rate among diabetic poor folks is so high.
One of my doctors called diabetes “a rich man’s disease.” He was referring to the cost of the food for a proper diet – when money tight yuh can’t do da rice an’ flour tortilla ting fuh long, bwai – and of medications, testing supplies and visits to the doctor. Oh, my wife and I offered to use our connections and our time to develop a relationship with a manufacturer of diabetic testing equipment in the United States so that Belizean diabetics could get free meters and test strips, as well as training in how to use them. Neither the UDP nor the PUP showed the slightest interest in our proposal!
The upshot of all of this is often a completely understandable behavior pattern that doctors call, “non-compliance.” You see, a diabetic is being asked to make significant life-style changes if he or she is to live longer and remain relatively healthy. It’s easy to get fed up with all the testing, the medication, the changes in diet along with the necessity to eat for blood glucose numbers, not for hunger and/or enjoyment, the requirement for exercise which is difficult if you are a sedentary person, so you say “screw it” and do what you want to do!
Every diabetic gets into the non-compliance bag once in a while. The trick is not to stay there for too long. If you do, the results won’t be pretty. They include: blindness, amputation of toes, feet and legs, five times the risk for a stroke or a heart attack when the statistics are compared to those for non-diabetics, failure of the kidneys, in other words to be consigned to a slow, painful death that may well become burdensome on your loved ones as well. Now think! How much money does the health care system have to spend to deal with the consequences of out-of-control diabetes and how much money could be saved by programs that would teach diabetics how to minimize problems and how to prolong the period of time before major problems occur?
That’s also part of my treaty with diabetes. I am trying to modify my serious taste for junk food. Don’t get me wrong. I love vegetables and fruits. It’s just that I really love Mickey D’s, Kentucky Fried Chicken, etc. Chinese fried chicken is often an acceptable substitute.
My dad died in 1973. He suffered a major stroke, spent a month in the hospital, and then suffered a massive heart attack while still in the hospital that took him out. He was 73 years old. During that last month in the hospital he couldn’t recognize my mother, who was his wife for 26 years, nor could he recognize his only child, Frankie Rhys! That should make it succinctly clear as to what can happen to a stroke survivor. Death may be preferable when compared to the prospect of living like a vegetable, or having to slowly re-learn basics such as walking and talking! Andy Palacio was 47 when it happened to him!
So, if you are a black or Latino man or woman – the risks for women have only recently been documented and they are equally as high as those for men after a woman’s menopause – think about your life style; the amount of exercise you get, your diet, and get a checkup at least once every year, every six months if problems start to surface. Take a simple blood test (all this is covered by NHI, the maximum co-payment for the blood test is $25.00) that includes the measurement of cholesterol, both HDL and LDL, triglycerides, kidney function, liver function, do a fasting blood glucose test and if you are a male, ask that a PSA is done on the blood sample. That last test will indicate whether prostate cancer is likely or already present; another ethnically linked problem for African-American and Latino men. And, have your blood pressure checked. Take your prescribed medication and your doctor’s advice seriously. And, read, read and read some more so that you increase your knowledge of your condition. When your doctor can’t be located at 3:45 a.m., the decisions you make may spell life or death! If side-effects start to appear with one medication, talk to your physician. There are plenty of alternatives available today, unlike what was available only a few years ago.
Hypertension and other closely linked problems of this nature have a nasty habit of having few detectable symptoms or no symptoms at all in their early and middle stages….until it’s too late! That’s why doctors call high blood pressure “the silent killer.”The world is full of people suffering from hypertension, diabetes and their associated conditions, who are going through their daily routines, blissfully unaware of the ticking time bomb inside. Try to disarm that bomb or at least set the clock ahead as far as you can! Your health and your quality of life, indeed your life and the quality of life for your family, may well depend on it. Take some advice from one who has lived with diabetes for 22 years and lived with hypertension for 29 years! You can at least even the odds, if you learn how and if you are willing to try!