Hernia – Part 1

So this Thursday will see me under the knife for a Hernia operation. To say I’m not really looking forward to it would be an understatement. It’s not something I ever really considered I would ever have.

It did in fact take me some time to realize that something was not quite right with my pastey kite, “Aww, he’s grown a cute little nose” I thought to myself, however over time his cute little nose would grow somewhat and my concern with it.  I came to the obvious conclusion that my belly was either: A: getting a hard on over the tasty Greggs banquet it would be treat to that day. B: I’d watched Alien so much I was in fact turning into John hurt and pretty soon I’d have an angry looking prawn friend running across my work desk. Or C: I had a hernia, it turned out to be C.

So I visited the doctor. I wore the baggiest shirt I owned, as to make the diagnosis a bit of a challenge. Wearing a tight shirt would only give the game away too soon and would give my belly the striking resemblance of a fat clown blowing gum.

Upon walking into the Doctors room I was greeted by two females. The first was a Doctor I’d had before, the second a young pretty lady who neither I, or Quatto my bulging belly friend were expecting.

I was informed that the  young lady was in fact a student nurse and was asked if I minded her being present while the doctor inspected me (By inspect I mean interrogate, undress, and made to feel fat, white, old and unhealthy). “Not at all” I said, as if I had a stern six pack awaiting to be unleashed, when in fact I was sucking my belly in so hard my hernia threatened to burst out of my arse giving me the ability to space hopper my way home.

After the usual questions I found myself lying on the doctors bed (They’d covered it in blue kitchen roll, I must have had “shits himself while lying down” written all over me) whilst the pair gazed into my belly button with such intent I thought they would throw a coin down it for good luck or shout their name through cupped hands only to hear the amusing echo answer them back.

It didn’t take them long to establish that i was a fat cunt and had probably torn the wall of my untoned kite by lifting one too many a heavy a sandwich, and I was referred to the hospital so that other people could strip me and point and laugh at my funny belly testicle.

Several similar appointments later I find myself counting down to my first experience of being under general anesthetic. It’s actually this part that makes me rather nervous. Not since my early days clubbing at Bedlingtons “The Palace” night club have I had the risk of being injected with something that would make me go to sleep whilst a masked stranger poke around inside of me.

I will be undergoing “keyhole” surgery. Again as if to add to my already insurmountable embarrassment my disgusting plight is obviously so severe that even an experienced nurse has to perform the operation behind and through a closed door such is their disgust at my ripped man moon of a tummy. They would be using “camera’s” to see what they are doing, great, let’s get a whole crew in on the scene, IMAX will probably be a suitable technology to fit in the whole picture that wouldn’t look out of place of Jabba’s swimwear catalogue.

Being sensible, I made my anxiety a little worse by looking up what was entailed and what caused a hernia on the internet. This of course was a huge mistake, as everyone knows that if you so much as have a spot on your nose the internet will tell you that you are about to die and should probably save what you were doing so that your work isn’t lost during you carking it. What struck me most were the causes of a hernia.

One of the more frequent causes it would seem could be (and i quote) “Straining whilst on the toilet“…Seriously?… All of those years of reading my stars in OK magazine and giving a gentle push to help out the already eager and poking tortoise head has caused my innards to tear and open my kite to the world? I don’t think so. I mean what sort of man baby must you have to be ejecting to cause your guts to rupture and your inner organs flee for freedom? Surely such an event would be worthy of some sort of NASA Cape Canaveral coverage and launch ceremony with an accompanying countdown?.  German U boats were surely sunk with torpedoes with less force than a dump propelled with such gusto that it causes one to practically turn inside out.

I prefer to stick by my own story, that I gave myself a hernia through the many sit ups I do before setting off for work in the morning, or that I stretched too hard during my over exuberant Yoga sessions on the beach at sunrise or perhaps I swung too hard to fend off the swarm of female adoration that I am forced to deal with on a daily basis.

So, as I sit here, on the toilet, typing this, I look forward to when my belly is restored to its former glory, after Thursday’s reconstruction. When my seven pack becomes once again six and I can again pursue my dream career as a Calvin Klein underwear model.

Yours bulging.

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