Six weeks and two days (44.5 days) of drug free living...
I continue to be beset by other trivial ailments. Before I recount these, have no doubt, I bear them with a broad smile. The knees continue to rebel. I played football on sunday for the first time in three weeks. A little troublesome to begin with, they eased as I warmed, and I enjoyed the game (scored 2, won a penalty... missed many easier chances). I went home thinking I may have passed the worst. Spent the afternoon walking around like an old man bereft of his zimmer, shouting everytime I had to get up out of a chair, and finding an inexplicably unlikely frequency to the number of times I was required to crouch... Why is it when something hurts and/or isn't working properly life finds a way of forcing you to use it? I remember as a teenager when I was going through my 'hideously-massive-swollen-knee' phase (I say that as though all teenagers go through this, "Oh yes, my knees were ridiculously massive... then my balls dropped.") - at the time this proved utterly beyond the explanatory powers of any NHS doc I came into contact with, but has subsequently been diagnosed (with unsatisfactory breeziness) as "probably the UC" - my younger brother seemed to find a million extra reasons to touch my knee like some maniacally-dwarvish Terry Wogan (a National Treasure of radio and TV, american readers, who was reknowned on his 80's chat-show for touching the knees of guests. And for the Floral Dance, but that's quite another story. God, that song used to make me laugh as a kid. I have no idea why). He hasn't touched them in the twenty years since that episode as much as he did while they were big and sore. Perhaps we're just drawn to anything swollen. Anyhoo, they're not so bad now - recovery time is, perhaps, speeding up - which is good.
I have also been struck with some weird skin complaints. Not a patch on pred-acne, but a little unsightly nonetheless. This has mostly manifested itself on my hands, bascially large areas of skin peeling off my palms and fingers. Perhaps a sign of madness? It doesn't hurt, but looks a bit manky. Not to the unfortunate extreme of the 'Incredible Melting Man', but enough for me to have noticed a couple of people wince before they shook hands with me - too late to pull out... mwhahahaha. It even goes away untreated. Then comes back. Bugger.
I should phone My GP (the Incredible Hulk), but I haven't. I am caught between two stools (snigger). On the one hand, I am thinking perhaps I have begun to notice these extra issues just because I've stopped spending every free brain-moment thinking about my bottom/poo/colon. Alternatively, I am slightly put off going to the surgery because, having spent so much time down there with the UC, now it has subsided I don't want to appear like some Munchausen-goof, desperate to be ill again.
Lets enjoy Terry, while we think about it (and look, that's TOTP's kids!):