Following My Own Advice

Mrs. Andal stares at me from across the desk, nearly in tears. She’s tried limiting her portions, she says. She has steered clear from pork, from salty foods, from her favorite pastries. She doesn’t understand, she says, why she keeps gaining weight, why her blood pressure is still through the roof. She’s already on a beta blocker and a low dose statin. She’s retired and recently widowed: she can’t afford to take any more medications. She’s beginning to sob.

I give her the standard speech. She needs to exercise more, to eat more vegetables, to cut down on pork. I know it will take a great deal of will power on her part. I know waking up to exercise in the morning will be a sisyphean task. I know because I’m going through what she’s going through. Not the hypertension or the dyslipidemia, thank God. I may have a few more years before I have to tackle those problems. But I have been having trouble living a healthy lifestyle. Regular exercise, low fat diets, keeping an ideal bodyweight — it’s all just part of the script.

I got away with being a couch potato in early adulthood because I had little money and what little money I had, I used to buy books. I played sports when I could. I ate just enough to stave the hunger. Fast forward a decade later. I’m still a couch potato. I have more money but less time to read. What little free time I have, I spend sleeping or eating. Food, I’ve discovered, relieves stress. So does excercise, I know — that’s in the script too. But give me the choice between wolfing down lechon kawali and hiking up Mt. Makiling, and I’ll ask you to hand me the bottle of Mang Tomas and to tell Mariang Makiling not wait up for me.

I’ve gained so much weight I’m nearly twice the size of my twenty-year-old self. I’ve tried to cut down on food, steered clear of cola drinks. But I don’t jog or play badminton as regularly as I need to. I still binge eat when I feel stressed. I am exactly like Mrs. Andal. No, actually, I’m worse. I’m a doctor who can’t follow his own advice.

The standard script delivered, I pat Mrs. Andal on the shoulder. I tell her it’s going to be alright and that I was there to help. I want her to have hope. I want myself to have hope.

Next time we meet I’ll tell her all about my morning jogs, my weekly badminton games, how I was a couch potato and how I struggled like her. Next time, I’ll have more than the usual script to deliver.

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