Fixing a hole

Hello people. I have a moustache. More on this later.

Today I twatted my finger with a mallet. Now, it was sore, really sore, but i’m a pure fucking trooper so i just got on with it. The end of my finger has now gone a funny colour and it’s loupin’ a bit but it really isn’t that bad. Not compared to the pain and the, yes, i suppose this is right, trauma i’ve had over the last few months.

According to some forums i’ve visited recently, it’s second in pain only to childbirth. I know this because some women who have given birth commented so on said forum –

“Second only in pain to childbirth – and i’ve had three kids!!”

“I can only describe this pain as close to giving birth as is possible!”

“If you’re a man and you have this, you may have an idea of what it is like to give birth!!”

And so on and so forth. Lots of exclamation marks there. They’re making a point!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I started getting pain at the start of the year. Oops, i have a wee problem! I’ll just keep that to myself. I took painkillers. It got better. It went away. It came back. It hurt. I took more painkillers. I told Karen. She told me to go to the doctors. I didn’t. It went away. It came back. Worse. I suffered. I took painkillers. They didn’t work. I told Karen. She told me to go to the doctors. I didn’t. It came back. Worse. Really bad. I took painkillers. They didn’t work. I told Karen. She told me to go to the doctors. I did. The doctor asked to examine me. I declined, mumbling something about being fine and the pain getting better. It wasn’t. I suffered, tolerated and eventually near collapsed in pain. It had me in tears. I took painkillers. They didn’t work. (Why am i not going to the doctors?) I carried on in pain. Tried to push it away. Back of the mind. Not good enough i’m afraid. I became near dependent on painkillers. One Sunday i’m making dinner. Pain, unbelievable pain, consumed me. No painkiller worked. I cried. Enough is enough. Doctors. Examination. Diagnosis. Treatment. Phew. Er, naw. Still pain. Doctors. New theory on cause. A disturbing thought. New treatment. Doesn’t work. *googles problem* Slight concern. Why? There’s a few possibilities to what my symptoms mean. One is very bad. It’s clearly not that though, is it? NAW!! Don’t be silly! Push concern to back of mind. Constantly google worst case scenario. Find reasons to convince self of wellbeing and least case scenario. Worry. Reassure Karen. She is worried too. Find forum. Find that changing eating habit works. Decide to eat differently. Meanwhile, on a Sunday again, the pain goes to a new level. It is indescribable. It is insufferable. It consumes me. But i know that this surely can’t be the worst pain ever. People have dreadful diseases that are clearly worse than this. Aye, but they are in hospital and are pumped full of fucking morphine, i’m in my front room, biting on a plastic toy so i don’t put my teeth through my tongue, with no magic button to click. Now VERY worried. Tiny percentage of brain says “worst case scenario”. Majority of brain says i’ll be fine. I’m increasingly becoming a believer in the underdog. WORRIED. Back to doc. Referred for operation. Doctor takes blood samples. I know why. Doctor makes a stumbled excuse of why. I’m glad she does this. Change subject. Discuss change in diet. Doctor is skeptical. Nevertheless, i decide to adapt my eating habits. The doctor said i would have the op in 1 – 2 weeks. A few days later i get notice to call the doctors. Something has come up in my blood test and it needs further discussion. OH DEAR FUCKING UTTER CHRIST. I MUST HAVE CANCER. I AM GOING TO DIE AND NEVER SEE MY KIDS AGAIN. I call the doctors for info. Nobody can divulge any info. I must make an appointment to see the doctor. I say it can’t wait. I am offered a telephone appointment. Obviously, i take it. I confide in my work colleague. He tells me not to worry, he has heard similar and that it’ll be fine. I choose to worry. The doctor phones. My mouth is dry and i feel a little bit sick. The doctor tells me that something has flagged in my blood tests and i need to come back for more tests. He hesitates. He tells me what it is. I absolutely piss myself laughing. It is my liver test that has spiked. “It can be numerous things” the doctor says. “Were you drinking the night before?” I recall my bottle and a half of red wine. “Errrrmmmm……. yes, i had a….. couple of glasses of wine.” The doctor tells me this is the reason for the irregular result. He asks me how much i drink. I lie. He still kicks my arse for drinking too much. I don’t care.

I never told you what was causing the pain, did I? Well, all i can say is that it is an utter pain in the arse. The worst kind. By by bloody God, changing my diet has worked. Pure hunners of fresh fruit and veg ( 4 carrots a day keeps a sore arse away). Lots of wholewheat. From yesterday, for the first time in about 3 – 4 months, i am painkiller free. The added bonus is i am losing a lot of weight. Not that i needed to of course, i’m now wasting away. Ahem. Oh, and i’m still waiting for the date of my op. So much for 1 – 2 weeks.

So the next time you see me, you’ll think or ask “How’s your arse?” Just like if i’d twisted my ankle you’d say “How’s your ankle?” Why not? Just because we all do jobbies doesn’t mean we pretend the area where they come from is off limits. I broke my finger. “How’s your finger healing Scotty?” I reply, “Och fine, getting there.” I have an arse problem. “How’s your arse healing Scotty? I reply, “Och fine, getting there.” Not gonna happen is it? Or should it. Discuss.

I don’t think i ever believed i had cancer, but it is incredible how your mind works when under stress and a great deal of pain.

Which brings me back to my first sentence. I have a moustache. I, like many others, am growing a slug on my lip to show support for male cancers. For Movember. You may think this is silly. You may think i look stupid. I do. You may think it is funny. It is. You may mock me for doing it. I don’t care. You may take the chance to question why i’m doing it when i’ve not really raised a great deal of cash. Then i would point you to the story above.

So i had a tear up my backside. There. I said it. Why is it that a problem with your cock, baws or arse is taboo? I have a throat problem – open to discussion. I’ve been having back pain – we all share with the group. I have an anal fissure. OH NOOOO. THAT’S WHERE JOBBIES COME FROM! It really is so fucking stupid. I suffered for so long because we all have a bottom. This isn’t the olden days. We need to be more open and forthcoming with our problems. It’s awfy similar to mental health, isn’t it? Ssshhhh. Cock, baws or arsehole pain. Sweep it under the rug. BUT THERE ISN’T ANY ROOM UNDER THE RUG BECAUSE MY MENTAL HEALTH PROBLEMS TAKE UP FAR TOO MUCH ROOM. Arse and mind probems? Oooft.

Guys are fucking hopeless when it comes to problems with their cocks, balls or arseholes. I was too. I suffered for so long and got myself worked up by pain and worry that i thought the worst. I don’t have the worst but how many guys have suffered because of –

A – stubbornness

B- embarrassment

C – denial

D – being a man

E – all of the above

If Movember does anything, apart from causing hilarity, the awareness it raises for baws and arse problems is amazing. Yes, i look like a tool, if not a tad homosexual, but the knowing look from a fellow Movember participant says “No, you’re the fucking man!” And if my Merv Hughes impression helps one, just one fucking guy go to the doctors long before i did to see about his problem, then it’s been a success. And if his problem turns out to be cancer which gets dealt with before it turns into the worst? Then why the fuck are we all not taking part in Movember?


One thought on “Fixing a hole

  1. This is brilliant. There is no finer, well oiled mechanism than a worried mind and an undiagnosed pain. It can go from mild fear to blind white balls out fucking panic in seconds. You’re right of course, and this is a mighty piece of writing. Well done!

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