Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Wearing Pink

Jonathan got home last night after a few drinks.

"I need a pink shirt tomorrow!"

"Oh, thank fuck - I put one of those red Virgin Atlantic socks in with the laundry.  You'll be ok.  Why do you need one anyway?"

"Breast cancer."

"Oh my God, Jonathan - I'm so sorry to hear that.  How did you find out?"

"No, silly - at work tomorrow, we're wearing pink to support breast cancer."

I'd been watching Hairspray earlier, so I sang: "Go cancer!  Go, go cancer!" in my best John Travolta.

"For awareness of breast cancer.  If one woman decides to check herself because of this, then I'm happy."

"'That man's wearing pink.  He's so hot, I'd better touch my nipples.'  That kind of thing?"

"You're being insensitive now, Howard.  Especially when your dad had cancer recently."

"Prostate cancer.  I'm wearing brown and masturbating to raise awareness."

"Goodnight, Howard."

I was watching Gok Wan's Miss Naked Beauty which was a quest to find an ambassador for natural beauty, a woman who could tell women everywhere that they didn't have to hide behind makeup, didn't have to be thin, didn't have to have great hair, just to have confidence, humour and happiness to be beautiful.  They had hundreds of women at the beginning of the show, by the end of it, they'd got the number down to a dozen, all of whom were slim, had fabulous bone structure, skin that hid its blemishes well under makeup and fabulous hair.  There was one who was a bit short, a black woman who was 40 but looked 25 if you'd never met a 40 year old black woman before and a girl with a bum that stuck out a bit.  I'm really looking forward to seeing how this one pans out because I think they'll all make fantastic ambassadors for real beauty.

In other bodily news, I've been having a new treatment for the trouble in my arms and it seems to be working really well.  It works by encouraging your body to heal itself more effectively through electrical stimulation of the nerves.  I've almost finished my course of fifteen treatments now.  At first, they did lots of general treatments where they worked on my spine, my neck and my face and these treatments made me quite tired.  After that, they treated my arms directly which would make them quite sore and puffy after treatment and I nearly wanted to give up, but they had assured me that part of the process was your body learning that the way it was wasn't right so the symptoms would get worse before they got better.

Now, I've got very little pain in my hands and the only place where I've still got any problems is in my elbows where the nerve passes through the ulnar groove, which is the mechanical problem I'm seeing the orthopedic specialist about tomorrow because the problem's been confirmed by the neurophysiologist.

So, I'm not out of the woods yet and it's not a miracle cure, but it's certainly helping more than all the strange masturbation aids that Berocca sent me in their dubiously named "Blogger relief pack."  It was full of really hand-intensive toys to play with.  I mean, a keyring that pops like bubble wrap?  Not a good gift for someone with RSI, but the day-glo piss seems to help stave off the lurgy everyone else is catching this time of year.

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