I have a hernia. Not a hurty kind of hernia, you understand. No, I have the other, (mostly) non-hurty kind of hernia. What? You didn’t know there was a (usually but not always) non-hurty kind of hernia? Neither did I…until I got one. The human body is just full of surprises, isn’t it?
I had always thought that hernias were malfunctions within the body. In a sense, they are: they are holes that open up and allow parts to ooze out of their expected place. You learn something new every day. Even if you’d rather not.
Especially if you’d rather not.
Apparently, this kind of hernia primarily affects men. What, you thought male privilege was all unearned respect and riches? We all seem to be learning things these days. And anyway, the truly privileged can always pay other people to have their hernias for them…right?
I say my hernia is mostly non-hurty because every once in a while, I have a tremendous stabbing pain in my lower abdomen. If I have to move when this is happening, the least painful way to do so is doubled over, like I’m trying to form a letter with my body (although the best I can come up with is a lumpy apostrophe – hey! Punctuation counts!).
But do I have to move? Really? Moving is for younger people; sitting still, now there’s something I can really get into. If the pain isn’t too bad, it can subside in a matter of half an hour. If it is too bad, I have to sit still for five or six hours before it is completely gone. Fortunately, as a writer, I have had a lot of practice at this.
I actually felt the pain months before I knew that anything was happening. It wasn’t until a lump on my pelvis appeared that I started thinking that something more than random old man pains was happening. The lump has stabilized at the size of a baseball. When the specialist I consulted suggested that I should have surgery, he assured me that, while the hernia wouldn’t be too painful, I shouldn’t wait until it was the size of a basketball. I should say not! I would have to let out all my pants, for one thing, maybe buy a larger size of underwear to accommodate the change! I had nightmares of walking past the basketball courts in my neighbourhood when a kid ran off the court to get a stray ball and, not entirely paying attention, instead grabbed my – OWWW!
Understandably, I asked to have an operation. Showing he understood what I was going through, the doctor booked a slot for seven months later. I wasn’t about to share my nightmare with him, but maybe if I had exaggerated the pain a little…
As the operation was explained to me, a mesh is inserted into your stomach and the bits of you that have leaked out is stuffed into it. (My apologies for the clinical nature of the explanation.) I imagine my insides wearing a hairnet. (It’s just this sort of imagery that dissuaded my parents from steering me towards a career in medicine.) All being well, this will keep the hole from growing and the interior of my body from becoming more of a jigsaw puzzle than it has already been.
Although the pain isn’t too bad, the embarrassment of having a hernia certainly is. Before my diagnosis, I noticed I had started…dribbling down my leg after I went to the bathroom. Just a little. Just enough to be really annoying. Shaking my…male member (not of Parliament – it has never been all that ambitious) for several seconds after I thought I was done didn’t help. Rising into a squat over the toilet and vigorously shaking often helps minimize the…leakage (Gord, I sound like a Spliz Enz song!), but it doesn’t always eliminate it.
As best I can tell, the hernia is pressing on my bladder, which is interfering with my ability to pee. I could tell you that it is having a similar impact on my so-called sex life, but Les Pages aux Folles has few enough readers as it is!
Getting old is still better than the alternative, but the further into it I get, the less certain I am of that truism!