What follows is my account of a personal experience with a hernia. I should tell you now that it is not educational. If you want that sort of thing you can look at Wikipedia, although I should warn you they also have pictures. Of hernias. From the inside. You’re better off with me.
So I hernia’d myself. Something went gone awry in Bollock-town. There’s no pretty way to say it.
The thing is, I hadn’t noticed. I took myself to the doctor purely on the basis that my pants felt too tight even when I wasn’t wearing actual pants. My doctor was very understanding and thoughtful, but I was still uncomfortable. This is because, for me, it is not the policemen who seem to get younger and younger, but the doctors. This one looked like she was about 14 and I had to fight back an urge to ask who her favourite member of “One Direction” was. It was like giving my medical history to a girl guide, looking to score her “Bolock Examination” badge.
“Okay, if you just drop your trousers, I’ll have a look,” she said. That ended my train of thought right there. There is nothing that drops one out of a reverie quite like the SNAP of a rubber glove. So she prodded and asked me to cough. I felt like I was in a “Carry On” film. She found a tender area and pointed out a really obvious lump I hadn’t noticed before. There are some parts of me that I just don’t lavish that much attention on, and it was clear that this was their revenge.
So actually it is not my nad as such. It’s just sort of the general groiny area nearby. “It’s part of your bowel that has broken through the muscle wall,” explained the doctor. “It just needs to be poked back in.”
This upset me. Referring to my upcoming medical procedure as “poking something back in” sounds so budget. I imagined a surgeon performing the operation with a wooden spoon or the rubber on the end of a pencil. “Pass the Blu-tac!” he would shout as he wrapped up.
"Don't worry," explained my doctor. "Lots of men your age get them." Which was rubbish. BEDSIDE EFFING MANNER, I wanted to say to her, but I did not because she was just little and I didn't want to make her cry. But was it really necessary to insert the words "YOUR AGE" in that sentence? Since when I am "YOUR AGE"??? My DAD is YOUR AGE. Sean Connery is YOUR AGE. I'm NEVER going to be YOUR AGE.
Oh shut up.
But that's not my main problem. Because it’s a relatively pain-free and therefore non-essential process I was clearly going to be at the bottom of the waiting list. It could be MONTHS before I got the rubber end of the pencil, as it were.
In the meantime I was not allowed to go to the gym anymore, which annoyed me. I was just getting to the point where it felt like I was getting somewhere. Mind you, it could well have been the gym that caused the problem in the first place.
And that was the really perplexing thing. I had no idea how or when I ruptured myself. I thought you’d notice, like when you bend over and rip your knickers and everybody laughs, but no. The only noticeable things are more of an urge to wee and the fact you have a lopsided willy area.
So I resigned myself to my fate. Besides, it wasn't so bad. Other than the symptoms I’ve mentioned so far, I could barely notice it. Oh, also whenever I sneezed I had an urge to check that everything was still there and that nothing had twanged across the room.
If I haven't lost you already, tune in for part 2 in which I attend my referral, get a novelty shave and experience uncomfortable re-growth. I’ll bet you can’t wait.
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