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When I arrived at the Oval Office in December to talk to Donald Trump about his health, the president was standing next to a couple of men clutching pieces of paper labeled TALKING POINTS.
“These are two doctors,” Trump told me before I could ask a question. “And by the way, I don’t know them, they’re not my best friends. They’re respected doctors that practice out of Walter Reed. And they happen to be taking care of me for anything — but I don’t need any taking care of because I’m in perfect health. I do purposely every year or less a physical, because I think the American people should know that the president is healthy so you don’t get a guy like the last one, who was the worst thing that ever happened to older people. Because I know people in their 90s that are 100 percent. Gary Player is 90 years old. He shot 70 with me the other day.”
Trump gestured at everyone present — me, the doctors, and press secretary Karoline Leavitt — to follow him into the room.
“Let’s sit for a couple of minutes,” he said. “I hate to waste a lot of time on this, but if you’re going to write a bad story about my health, I’m going to sue the ass off of New York Magazine.
