Once in a while, the doctor wants to Review The Numbers, and since they’re my numbers, I figure I ought to listen.
Where it got unfathomable, though, was on the subject of Vitamin D levels. Surely this couldn’t be an issue for me, given my presumed devotion to the sun. Then again, the sheer freakiness of this winter and the desire to avoid frostbite (or worse) has apparently depleted my stores: I showed up about 70 percent below spec.
He went into the speech: “They say that if we could all stand outside naked for half an hour a day, we’d get all the Vitamin D we need.”
I can do that, I thought, but didn’t actually say. Perhaps I should have. But maybe it wouldn’t have mattered: “Your level is so low that it will have to be corrected by artificial means.” Humongous sunlamp? Nope. Humongous capsule, or something.
And maybe this casts some light on my ostensible seasonal affective disorder: could it be just the lack of D?