I didn’t spend my twenties dreaming of travel or career rungs. I spent them watching the monitor.

I remember the sound of the Velcro cuff, rip, pump, hiss. 

I remember the way my father’s face would pale every time the numbers climbed. I watched the vibrant man who raised me shrink into a shadow, a prisoner to his own circulation, until the “Silent Killer” finally stopped whispering and took him for good.

That was the day I stopped wanting to get old.

To me, “old age” wasn’t a gift; it was a death sentence of pills, fatigue, and fear.

 I was living with the “Legacy of the Cuff,” terrified that my DNA had already decided my ending.

But then I realized: I am not my father’s medical chart. I don’t have to wait for the “inevitable” to happen.

 I can choose to protect my heart before it ever has to fight.