Monday, 11 November 2019

A Troubling Prospect.

I forgot to mention last Friday that my latest post-cancer screening procedures proved clear, so now I can breathe again on that front until the next one is due in February.

The next issue to receive attention is the vascular constriction problem which is causing my left leg to ache badly if I try to walk more than about 300 yards. Tomorrow I’m due to go for the angiogram to establish how the blood is flowing and what, if anything, can be done about it.

What concerns me about this is what the doctor said the last time I saw him – that if the issue is manifest in my left leg at the moment, the chances are that the process is happening everywhere in my body. And that raises the spectre of other problems such as angina. Angina isn’t such a big problem in itself, but what about the other manifestation of arterial constriction which is of no small importance to men? You know, that word nobody likes to use. Impotence.

Well, the prospect of impotence is also of relatively minor concern to me since I see no likelihood of ever needing to be potent again. Those days are in the past. But suppose I were to be shipwrecked and washed up on a desert island, and on regaining consciousness on the sun-kissed sand I were to see a number of bronzed maidens rushing in my direction with delight and anticipation in their eyes.

‘A man! A man!’ they would be crying. ‘Now we can breed again and the future of our people will be secure.’ At which point I would have to say:

‘Breed? Not with me you won’t. Those days are in the past.’ And then I’d feel a prat.

But that wouldn’t be the end of the matter. The looks of delight and anticipation would change to daggers and other sundry pointed things, all racing towards my person at speed. And their leader would say:

‘If you cannot breed with us, you are of no value and must die. Prepare for your end, half-man. Resistance is useless.’

And then the looks of delight and anticipation would return to the eyes of the bronzed maidens and they would cry out with one voice:

‘Man meat! We haven’t tasted that in many a long year. Should we have him now or save him for Christmas?’

And I don’t think I’d like that very much.

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