To my horror, I turned 40 last month.  What the hell?  Wasn’t I supposed to be 25 at some point?  What the hell happened to my 30’s?  Is there a single man out there who does not ask himself these questions upon hitting the 4th decade of life?

At any rate, conventional wisdom says that this is the time when one’s body starts falling apart, so I decided that I would go and get a physical, to sort of establish a baseline from which to track my descent into decrepit senility.  Overall, though, my doctor told me that I was actually quite healthy, given my pre-existing conditions (gout, asthma, migraine, etc.), and in no real danger of massive systems failure anytime soon.  She did tell me that I have a minor viral infection in my throat, which is why it’s been hurting (ever so faintly) for about two weeks ago, but not to worry about it.  And apparently I have dermatitis on the soles of my feet, which is kind of disconcerting.  Other than that, my lungs and heart are fine, and my blood pressure… well, it’s under control, at least.

I really like my doctor.  She’s friendly and approachable.  She’s Indian, which helps keep my interest when she talks to me ((I confess to a weakness for Indian women.  And smart women.  Smart women in general are very, very hot, which is why my wife will always be hotter than yours.)).  We’ve had some good conversations about life in the US as opposed to life in India.  But sometimes she’s sort of like a broken record.

ME:  I know I need to lose weight.

SHE:  Yes.  You do need to lose weight.

ME:  Other than that I think I’m in decent shape.

SHE:  Yes, you are, but you need to lose weight.

ME:  I know that I need to lose weight.

SHE:  Yes you do.  You need to lose weight.

ME:  My lungs are pretty clear.  Haven’t had to use my inhaler in almost two weeks.

SHE:  That’s great! Do you think that it will get better as you lose more weight?

ME:  And I think my blood pressure is under control.

SHE:  It would be under better control if you lost weight.

ME:  So considering I just turned 40, I think I’m okay.

SHE:  Yes, but after 40 it’s much harder to lose weight.

ME:  Look!  A chicken!  On the shelf next to the latex gloves!

SHE:  Yes, it is a chicken, and you need to lose weight.

Notice her subtle hints?  Apparently a number of patients at her practice have requested other doctors because she’s so very adamant on this point.  I’m not going to do that, though; I’d much rather have a doctor who kept harping me on this point than one who pretended that everything was fine until I collapsed under a mass of my own flesh and who would only then say something like, "How do you feel about losing some of that weight?"

So she wants me to keep records of my blood pressure and my weight and my exercise routine so she can look at them when I return in two months.  I can do that.  I hope.  I’m not too keen on being scolded by her.

Next up: the ophthalmologist.  Then the dentist, who I’m afraid will really be excited about the prospect of setting me up with a root canal.