Yes, it Really Happened to Me
Posted
11:35 27th June 2007
It
may come as little or no surprise that there are a number of episodes
in the lives of the Fourth Floor characters that are based
in some way on my life. To write something completely divorced from
my own experience would be impossible and in characterising the
cast I have drawn upon elements of my own personality. I am now
or have been in some small way each one of the Fourth Floor
characters (even Amy - especially Amy) and in their hopes and fears
and petty dislikes you will find glimpses of my own. The strip is
not, however, a journal comic nor is it a simple chronicling of
the events of my life. That said, every now and again something
happens to me that is so strange or extraordinary that I have to
write it into the strip.
Today's
humble
offering presents just such a scenario. My name is
David and I have had a hernia. Many people I tell this secret to
do not know what one is so for the benefit of those not in the know
a hernia is when part of the intestine tries to escape the body
by pushing up against the wall of the groin in an unsightly protrusion.
When the doctor puts his hands down your pants and asks you to cough,
that's what he's testing for. Either that or he's not really a doctor
and you should probably seek medical advice elsewhere.
Mine
was exceptionally large and when it first appeared (following, I
would like to believe, a particularly enthusiastic night of sex)
I had no idea what it was. My mind did not immediately jump to 'hernia'
because, well, hernias are for old people right? You've got to be
in your forties at least. Sure, they could technically happen to
anyone but if you're a middle-aged man or a pregnant woman - and
I am neither - you are more likely to get one. So I did nothing
for about eight months. Then I was listening to Radio 4 with my
father whilst he was picking me up from work and they were doing
a programme about hernias. I listened to the description of what
a hernia is, where it shows up, how it behaves, the horrible things
that can go wrong with them and I, naturally, began to diagnose
myself with the affliction. Even then, no alarm bells. My friends
will confirm that I, like most
of my kind, am something of a hypochondriac. As soon
as I learn enough about any disease I become convinced I have it.
I once suffered from all but one of the symptoms of a brain tumour
and, thanks to the BBC's health website, thought I had cancer. Needless
to say, I did not have cancer. I listened to another Radio 4 show
about Alzheimer's. I'm kinda forgetful. I write shit on my hands
and my arms. Some day's it's fucking Memento.
I don't have Alzheimer's.
I
went to my GP. He confirmed that I did not have cancer, I did not
have Alzheimer's, that lump on my arm was probably nothing and yes
I did have a hernia. A hernia which could - potentially - strangulate,
killing me in the process. What fun. Knowing this, England's finest
medical minds sprung into action and just one short agonising year
later I had surgery to correct the problem, just before the comic
came back from the dead in fact.
I
say agonising because the hernia itself grew in size and strength
over the nearly two years we were together and shortly after my
trip to the GP it started hurting. Permanently. A persistent dull
ache similar (I can only imagine) to period cramps. Then there were
the sharp bursts. Imagine, if you will, that every time you coughed
or sneezed someone kicked you in the groin from the inside.
That's what I had to put up with. And now, so does Jack. |