Annual Physical

My family is truly blessed to be surrounded by wonderful friends who are doctors, including our family physician, Dr. Dave. We met Dave and his family when D2 and his daughter Shira were in kindergarten, and we've been friends ever since. Several years ago, Dave had had it with the usual state of family practice -- he had to see nearly 4000 patients yearly, just to make a decent living. He joined a group called MDVIP, which provides so called concierge medicine. His practice is limited to 600 patients, and you get the sort of service we remember from the 60s and 70s -- before managed care and the corportization of medicine. I've done pro bono legal work for Dave, and in return he treats my family without the required tuition payments. Wifey and the Ds take full advantate -- calling him and seeing him for every malady -- real and imagined. As a result, I tend to try not to bother him much. But his office insists I get an annual physical -- major blood work and full discussion about preventative medicine. I get my annual physical about every 4 years. This year was the first following my prostate cancer scare. My PSA score had dropped, and I joked that I was cured by having the biopsy. Nurse Nancy, Dave's long time medical assistant and the best I've ever known, gave me a shingles shot. I protested that shingles was a disease of old people -- wasn't I more at risk to get chicken pox again? No, she said, 50 and above get the vaccine -- and I was 51. Caramba! Dr. Dave looked over my EKG, blood flow tests, breathing tests (as expected, the lawyer in me assured I was full of hot air, and scored high on that one), and pronounced me a "fat pig." He didn't actually use those words, but that's what the ugly and obese truth was. I thought I weighed in the 230 range -- easily 40 pounds higher than anything resembling normal. Nope, the awful scale said -- I was 248! In other words, I'm NFL linebacker size --with none of the muscle or conditioning. So I gave myself the rest of the week and this weekend to eat like the hog I am. At Norman's tailgate, I piled on the Shorty's and ate several enormous chocolate chip cookies and brownies. Our houseguest Diane brought in Big Cheese Italian Friday night -- and I ate all the stuffed shells (sort of an accurate description of me) and pasta. This am, Norman and I met at LOL, and I had an omelette, oatmeal, and half an enormous bagel. Tomorrow I start a new regimen. Low carb, low fat, and more exercise. I may even call Dave's trainer -- a fellow he swears by, at the local YMCA. He assures me there is no surplus of hot ladies at the Kendall Y, so that may be the gym for me. Of course, my life has been replete lately with stories of guys in great shape who drop like flies. My father, overweight almost all of his adult life, retired to Florida and got a Diabetes II scare. He lost about 40 pounds, and vigorously walked every night. He was in the best shape of my memory --thin and energetic. And then he dropped of a massive MI. So on second thought, maybe I should just stay fat...more of me to love. Nah -- I'll at least give the thought of 36 inch waist size another shot. Time will tell...