Why don’t I do more things I know are good for me?

For many years I was the patient of a very strange cardiologist at Mass General. He would look at the EKG results, ask me the same list of questions and note the answers on a pad in front of him, physically examine me, comment to whatever resident was working with him that day (always along the lines of, “Can you even believe this guy is still kicking?”) and usher me out.

Now, I have a new cardiologist and she wants to give me advice. Thirty minutes on the treadmill is good but for two days a week forty-five minutes would be MUCH better. Do I simply walk on the treadmill? I attempt to describe the lurching, almost falling motion that encompasses attempting to run at my age and in my condition. She is unrelenting.

Starting with breakfast, describe what I eat in a typical day. More dark vegetables, more dark fruits, more SALAD, she states in a matter-of-fact way. I am beginning to think my mother has come back, not as a moose as I always thought, but as a cardiologist on Cape Cod. I say, “Yes, mother” without even thinking. She looks at me closely, her eyes just slits.

“Get with the program, fat boy”, she responds. Can I pick them or what!