Monday 18 December 2017

A public apology for being a man

It appears there has been what Flann O’Brien would describe as a transfer of the 'mollycules'
It appears there has been what Flann O’Brien would describe as a transfer of the 'mollycules'
Brendan O'Connor

Brendan O'Connor

I am ashamed to say I am sick. I mean that literally. I am ashamed. Men in general are embarrassed to admit they are sick. Unless they have something serious. But your common or garden cold or flu or virus? No man dares to try to claim victimhood on that. My current malady started with a head-cold of some kind. But for me the central issue with a head-cold tends to be that it gets into the gums and they become worse than usual. I am, as you will know, a martyr to the gums, not that I like to mention it. Even very expensive and protracted surgery recently has failed to solve the problem. So now I am deciding I need to live with it. At night I will wake up with the gums screaming. With a head-cold, it can become difficult to think of anything else. Whatever the sinusy connection there, the gums go into overdrive.

The head-cold is gone-ish now and I am left just with the gums and a general sense of exhaustion that refuses to go. If I was in the civil service and childless I would be in bed. But instead I am around the place, like the walking dead. Flattened but functioning.

But do I say I am sick? No. I dismiss it apologetically as 'man flu'. I get in before anyone else does. Because no one takes a sick man seriously do they? We are just overgrown boys, wanting our Mammy to make everything OK.

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