Apart from the constipation - a really shitty thing (boom boom!) - the itching is, at times, worse than the pain. The painkillers are a man-made opiate; opiates derive from opium, heroin is an opium thing. Heroin addicts suffer from constipation and itching; all I can say is the high must be worth it.
I freaked the wife out yesterday, big time, and that's something that is as rare as rocking horse shit. I'm sure anybody who reads this is getting fed up of me harping on about packing up smoking and about how much pain I'm in. Yes, I see sympathy from all around, but deep down I can't shake the feeling that most people are probably just thinking, "for fuck's sake, so you're in pain - try having a baby or having a tooth removed without anaesthetic. Just stop going on about it!" And if they are, then I can't say I blame them. Reading about someone else's pain experiences can't be particularly entertaining (unless there's a lot of blood, brains, sex and nudity involved). However, like a broken record, I'm not finished, so tough titty...
Anyhow, I freaked the wife out. My back is still pretty bad, but like all injuries it has begun to subside. it might be the drugs, but it's probably more likely to be the spasms easing off and the swelling going down. However, because nothing in my life is particularly simple, the latest twist (and that's a great word) is the migration of the pain to my hip and groin (which apart from the new kind of pain, also makes doing the horizontal mambo nigh on impossible). It's actually been there since it started, but because the back was considerably more painful, I sort of overlooked it. Now, however, it is having its own moment in the spotlight.
I noticed the other day, that when I walk something happens; something decidedly unpleasant. My hip clicks and if you put your hand on the outside of it, you can feel it sort of slip in and out of its socket. It probably isn't doing that, but that's the best way to describe how it feels and seems.
So, we're walking the dogs, me hobbling along with my trusty walking stick, and I thought, "she should feel this, it might help her understand a bit better" (not that I'm suggesting she isn't understanding or considerate, but compared to me she is the healthiest person who has ever lived). So I took her hand, placed it on my left hand hip and carried on walking. Jesus Harry Christ, you'd think I just put a massive great spider with humongous teeth and 'MUM' tattooed on its knuckles in her hand. She literally jumped a foot away from me.
"My God, that can't be right!" She exclaimed and for the rest of day and evening she could not get over it. "I've never felt anything as wrong as that in my life!" was another statement. She is now convinced I'm going to need hip replacement surgery. I suppose I'd better mention it to the doc when I see her on Wednesday. I've just taken it for granted that its something to do with the general problem. The wife, however, thinks its weird, freaky and definitely not right.
I'm hoping, for once, she's over reacting (either that or these painkillers have made me impervious to worry - I mean, this time 18 months ago I was feeling really guilty about having so much time off of work; today, I really don't give a shit!)
***
Another side effect, but this time more than likely from stopping smoking, is the weird and wonderful inability I've developed of not being able to get cold! Anyone who knows me is aware that I am the world's biggest bleater about temperature. I have more fleeces, jumpers, thermal underwear, hats, scarves, gloves and mahoosive coats than you could physically shake a stick at, yet I'm actually looking forward to the cold snap forecast on Wednesday. Perhaps I'll shiver. Perhaps I won't walk around wearing barely anything and still be sweating.
The wife thinks its because my blood is circulating around my body again and not being obstructed by the affects of smoking. All I can say is its a bit like being my own nuclear generated sauna at the moment. The wife was cold last night and put the heating on - it was to be fair 0 degrees on the patio - within half an hour I was stripped down to a T-shirt and that was sticking to me. I, somehow, thought that having a bath might help. Ten minutes after getting out of the bath, I felt like I needed a cold shower; I was just pouring with sweat. I'm thinking I could solve an energy crisis if they could hook me up to some kind of energy collector.
***
Is this a coincidence or have I got a really clever Trojan embedded into my computer?
The new pills I'm on - oxycodone (or more familiarly known to Stephen King readers and Americans as Percoscets) are pretty good. While I've heard of the US version, I've never seen Oxycodone anywhere (and considering Boots had to order them in and the doctor said she hadn't ever prescribed them before) imagine my surprise when an advert for Oxycodone should pop up in my Spam In-box less than two days after mentioning them in a recent blog entry. Normally, its your usual Viagra spam, so seeing an '80% off your next order of Oxycodone' advert made me a little bit paranoid...
I'd like some Krugerrands, please!
***
I watched 30 minutes of a film called Hunter Prey last night. That's 30 minutes of my life I'm never seeing again. It was so bad, I switched it off and threw the DVD away. I can be cruel and heartless, but I'm not cruel and heartless enough to allow someone else to be subjected to it.
Instead we watched Toy Story 3. I didn't cry or get upset (like just about everybody I know), but that might have something to do with a) I have no kids of my own, and b) I was never really a toys kid. As an infant, I preferred drawing and making up stories - in my head rather than with inanimate objects.
That might explain why I'm such a miserly person when it comes to Christmas.
The wife steadfastly refuses to let me 'do' Christmas. Every year I ask her, every year she refuses.
Every year she spends between £200 and £400 on the whole kit and caboodle; that includes a 6 foot tall real tree; presents for nieces, nephews, brothers, sisters, her mother and grandmother and R'n'B. If I was to 'do' Christmas, it would cost about £50 and that would include fuck all for anybody, a twig stuck on the mantelpiece with Blutac and some beer for me.
In the coming days of austerity, mine sounds like a eminently more sensible idea.
***
Have I mentioned how much I fucking hate this new keyboard?
At some point, I'm going to type a paragraph and I'm not going to edit it; just so you can see how my sausage fingers are not coping at all well with it...
***
If I haven't done this already; can I recommend two television imports from the good ol' US of A.
Forget what you've read about The Event. We're four episodes into it and it's really quite compelling TV. Far better than that load of Flash Forward twaddle and just barking enough to make it worth sticking with. It starts on Channel 4 on Friday.
The other is No Ordinary Family, with Michael Chiklis (he of The Shield and Ben Grimm in the Fantastic Four films) and Julie Benz (she of Buffy, Angel, and Dexter). It is funny, quite sexy and thoroughly entertaining. Ms Benz just gets more attractive as she gets older and the entire premise - lifted essentially from The Incredibles - is spot on and dare I say it, realistic.
***
I read an interesting football related article the other day. it suggested that in the next few years the English Premier League will be dominated by Chelsea, Man City, Arsenal and Spurs; with the likes of Liverpool and Man Utd declining in stature and slipping out of contention. With the news today that Wayne Rooney wants out of Man U and Liverpool fading quicker than Dulux paint on a south facing wall in Spain, it would be great to see a new world order.
It might have an extra team in that new mix up, if Bill Kenwright can sell Everton to a rich Arab, then I think they would be up there too.
***
I have to say that the BBC's decision to axe its two finest weathermen - Rob McElwe and Philip Avery - from national broadcasts in preference for the younger, personality less likes of what's his name and the other one is just a really pathetic and sad thing.
But, this is from a company that spends our licence fee on shipping out personality news readers to world events so that the viewer gets to see a familiar face on the 6 or 10 o'clock news broadcasts.
During the Chilean mining rescue; that poor sod Tim Wilcox - the guy who invariably ends up doing national holidays and weekend slots on the news channel - got sent out to Copiapo about two weeks before the rescue happened. I figured it was because he spoke Spanish. He was a star and really did an excellent job and one felt that after serving what seemed like an endless apprenticeship at the helm of every antisocial news slot in existence; he was finally going to get his moment in the spotlight.
But no. About 12 hours before the first miner was due to be brought to the surface; the BBC shipped Matt Frei and Rajesh Mirchandani out there - two familiar faces for regular viewers of BBC1 news reports. Why? Wasn't Wilcox doing a good enough job? Don't the BBC have faith in their man? Or is it that they seem to think we'll understand the news better if someone more familiar is fronting it?
This is our licence fee being frittered away by the cult of personality and celebrity.
And it isn't the first time. Back when that god awful tsunami struck south east Asia on Boxing day a few years ago; we had initial reports from Damian Grammaticus. once the scale of the disaster became apparent, they shipped George Alagiah out there, so he could present the 10 o'clock news from where the disaster actually happened!
And what about the flooding disaster in Boscastle. The Beeb was quite happy for the South-West of England reporter to cover the breaking story on News24, but the moment it was time for the 6 o'clock news, they wheeled Huw Edwards out.
This is where I can understand the criticism of using our licence fees on totally uneconomic things. Personally, I don't care who reports the news as long as it's accurate...
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