You're never too old to feel like a five-year-old busted for writing in crayon on the walls.
Yesterday I had an annual physical. Everything checked out fine. My doctor flipped through my chart and looked up.
"You're still taking Vitamin D supplements since we got you back on track from your deficiency?"
"Oh. Those. Right. Ah, no. I'm not actually taking those."
He removed his glasses to stare at me. "And why is that?"
I shrugged. "I'm just not good about taking pills." I smiled my best "I'm going-to-charm-my-way-out-of-this" smile.
He was having none of it. His pen made an angry tapping sound on the chart. "And the calcium supplement?"
"Um... no. I'm not taking that either."
"I see." He sat and looked at me, the disappointed parent chastising the disobedient child look all over his face.
"Let me ask you something." He leaned forward and smiled. "You're a runner, correct?"
I smiled back. "Yes."
Thunder clouds darkened his face. "Then is there some reason you're willfully neglecting your health? Are strong bones and a straight back not important to you in your 70's?"
"No, I mean, yes, of course they are..."
"Because you've lost some bone density in your spine."
"Right. you mentioned that last year. But I--"
"Do you drink milk?"
I hunched on the table, willing it to swallow me whole. "I don't eat dairy," I whispered.
He shook his head.
"I will!" I said, sitting up straight. "I'll take everything. I promise."
And so I will. I'm on my way to CVS to pick up some Citracal, Vitamin D and, just for kicks, fish oil. I was laughing to myself as I left the office. I wonder how many "disappointed dad" faces my doctor has pulled in the course of his career. I'm betting a lot. He's really good at it.