I try to follow the advice that I recommend to my patients. I eat low fat foods and exercise. I don't smoke. I check my blood pressure, drink a glass of red wine each day, take baby aspirin daily and, if necessary, take medication to keep the bad cholesterol down. I play tennis three times a week and follow the heart diet that I published.

But for three months I kept waking up with a stiff back. A TV commercial showed me how a proper mattress could banish morning stiffness and back pain, so my wife and I headed to the furniture store. A persuasive young saleswoman invited me to lie down on the advertised miracle mattress. After a few minutes of complete relaxation, we bought the mattress.

We decided that we also needed a new bed, and bought an elegant bedroom set on an arrangement with no payments for two years. The carpet in our home was worn and faded, and wouldn't complement the new bedroom look. So we ordered a new wood floor, which was installed in one day, with two years to pay.

The first night in the new bed with the new mattress was bliss, and in the morning I suffered less stiffness. One week later, however, the aches and pains returned. Perhaps the covers were too heavy? So we bought new down covers and pillows, which were included in the same two-year pay plan.

Still, I felt stiffness and back pain.

The tennis pro saw me struggling during a match and said, "You need a tennis racket that's longer, lighter, and will give your ball more power. Your back will feel better, too." So I bought a new racket; the best you can get, and also new tennis sneakers. The tennis pro was right. I could hit the ball better and deeper, but the back pain persisted.

One of my patients is a chiropractor and he was delighted to twist me around like a pretzel. I was relieved from the pain; it returned in two hours.

I decided to try some anti-inflammatory medications. I achieved freedom from pain, but one week later my stool became black as coal. I figured that back pain, black stool, and some stomach discomfort must be cancer with metastasis to my back. In a flash, I imagined the dozens of tests that would have to be done, long drawn out chemotherapy, loss of hair and vomiting, weight loss, death verdict, and the final hours with my family.

Suddenly, I remembered I had never completed a "Do Not Resuscitate" instruction. Swiftly, I wrote out my DNR and had my secretary witness it. "Why are you doing this now?" she asked suspiciously. "It occurred to me that I don't have one, and everyone should," I told her. Next, I called my lawyer to ask him if my estate was in order, the status of my insurance, and about the long-term care coverage, which now I felt I wasn't likely to use. What a dirty trick nature had played on me, just when I got a new bedroom set and tennis racket.

In the meantime, I stopped taking the anti-inflammatory medication and substituted the newest ulcer drug, which was sitting on the sample shelf in my office. I ordered an MRI of my back. My colleague, the radiologist, was good enough to read the MRI for me. "You have a bulging disc and some spinal stenosis but no cancer," he said. I was so relieved; I wanted to hug him. "Go and see an orthopedist and see what he recommends."

The orthopedic surgeon prescribed physical therapy and a muscle relaxant. I enjoyed the massages, but it did little for the back pain, and my tennis game suffered. "If things don't improve, surgery may be the only answer for you."

Then I saw an internist, another friend, to get medical clearance before surgery. The internist gave me a thorough examination with cardiac stress tests, a complete GI workup, and arranged for a colonoscopy and blood tests. He complimented me on my excellent health and especially my ideal lipid profile. He told me to stop taking aspirin.

"Oh, by any chance, are you taking statins?" he asked. I had completely forgotten to tell him that I had started taking them five months earlier to lower my cholesterol.