My Deficiencies

I am sitting with my mother in the nursing home.

"I'm so tired," I complain.

She looks me over. I feel about eight years old.

"Do you feel worse walking up hills?"

Come to think of it, yes.

"I walked up College Street today. I felt like it took more effort than usual," I said. "I thought it was the heat."

"You have an iron deficiency," she announces. She is more confident than most doctors. "Eat more meat."

She's probably right. I've been anemic before, and I do feel that way -- lethargic, and steaks and cheeseburgers seem oddly palatable. Still, I resist the Floradix. Is this why we have doctors, because we don't listen to our mothers?

Or is that just what my mother would say?