The IV in the back of my hand was uncomfortable. What sadist thought of sticking a needle there? It’s hard to imagine a part of my corpulent body that has less meat than the back of my hand, or a part of my body that moves more than my hand.

But that wasn’t the worst part of this hospital visit. The worst part was the instructions not to eat or drink anything after 6 a.m. the morning of the test. Since, like most people, I don’t get up in the middle of the night to carboload, what that really means is don’t eat anything after 8 p.m. the night before.

By the time of the scheduled 10:30 a.m. test, I was hungry. Ten-thirty came and went with no test.

I understand that on a discomfort level of one to 10, one being a pampered purse dog and 10 being a starving Sudanese refugee who has just walked 200 miles across a barren desert with everything he owns on his back, I was somewhere around a 0.00001. Did I mention that I wasn’t even allowed a morning cup of coffee?

ˇAround noon, there started to be some activity in my wing of the hospital. It seems it was lunchtime. Around 3, my team started asking the usual questions.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Yes. To lose half my body weight.”

“And what is your date of birth?”

“You’re the 10th person to ask me that.”