The Writer's Curse

So I had a doctor's appointment earlier this afternoon, my first in several years. I'm happy to report that I received a clean bill of health, and happier still that the meeting passed with none of the thinly veiled passive-aggressive barbs that usually fly between me and a G.P.

I'm inherently nervous around doctors, mistrustful even. I mean, who else can get away with making you take your clothes off and then telling you that you need to lose weight? (I'm thinking: Dude, if I were a girl and this were a date, I'd be perfectly within my rights to kick your shins off.) But this guy was friendly, polite and very thorough. There were no embarrassing "You know, Mark, that question would be better asked of a pyschiatrist" moments, and he was nice enough to ignore the fact that I was clearly understating my weekly intake of caffeine and alcohol.

The only red flag in my blood work was an especially low level of Vitamin D. This is of course known as the "sunshine vitamin." A normal Vitamin D score falls somewhere between 75 and 100; I scored 32, less than half of the bottom end of a healthy range. I chalk this up to being a writer, and told him so. Those long hours alone in a white room, scribbling away at my creative drippings, the countless sunny days that just pass me by entirely because I can't figure out if a particular paragraph should go at the beginning or end of a chapter. Plus, as my father would be the first to point out, I'm not much of an outdoorsman. Anyway, I'll be taking a daily supplement for the rest of the winter.

I don't mean to harp on doctors. They do good work. I mean, it's not novel-writing or anything, but they do contribute what they can to society. Still, I have my prejudices. To see these prejudices perfectly articulated, I encourage you to read the opening page of Martin Amis's novel Time's Arrow. I could not have said it better myself.

Enough for now. I'm off to take my pill.

M