The doctor delivers

“Lose weight, or you die. It’s that simple.”
“Like, from a heart attack?” I ask
“Sure. If that’s you’re pleasure,” He hits my knee with a reflex hammer and it bounces up. “Or cancer, pick your poison on that one.”
“Pancreatic-” he lists.
Grandma had that one.
“Colon,” he says.
Dad is scared of that one. He gets tested yearly.
“Whatever you want,” he deals. “Maybe you’ll get diabetes or just get hit by a car because you run too slow,” He smiles a wicked grin. I look away and I run my finger across the dirty, carpeted wall.
Lose weight, or you die. It’s that simple.
I’ve never heard anyone say it was simple before, so feigning a fixation on the textures of the wall I ask what part of losing weight is simple.
“Just stop eating before you’re full.” It does sound simple when he says it. My chart says I’m around 95 pounds overweight and I wonder how quickly I can lose that by eating only until I’m satisfied. I’ll start tonight, and maybe by Christmas I’ll be down 20 pounds or so, since it’s so simple. He writes me my refill prescription for Xanax and leaves. If I take one of these rights before dinner, I’ll fall asleep before I’m full. Simple.