Careful

I've been having a bit of fun writing the Cue story. It was just something that came along, unexpectedly. It will return, that's for sure, and I've got the next few bits ready to be posted a bit later in the week, or weekend.

I've been thinking about this a lot, and I've tried writing it out a few times, never quite content with what ends up on the page. Sometimes, what I'm trying to say comes across as whiny or self-righteous. That's not at all what I'm trying to be. In reality, what I'm trying to be is honest, in this, more so than anything else.

I'm writing this mostly for my own benefit, to come to grips with it, to accept it, and to have something permanent to remind me that it won't go away if I try to rationalize it or forget about it.

Since about September, I've had a numb spot on the side of my calf. I thought nothing of it at first, because I've got a scar on that side of my leg and the original wound went pretty deep. A bit of sub-cutaneous nerve damage is to be expected.

However, this little numb spot has been growing. As I'm writing this, it feels like I've got a horde of bees crawling between my waist and my knee. Attempting to itch it only makes the feeling even worse, and the texture of the skin on the side of my leg has become tough and rubbery. Bizarre, to say the least.

This is not something I normally bring up, but given I've still hesitated (for too long) to seek a doctor's attention, I'm trying a bit of "writing therapy," to address it.

From my limited understanding of biology and medicine, this could be something as simple as the damaged nerves in my leg aging and changing as time goes on. Or, it could be something much more sinister, such as cancer, diabetes, or any number of severe nerve diseases that could cause this. I'd rather not speculate, but at the same time, there's a gnawing bit of doubt that if I go to see the doctor, it could be something serious. And of course, there's always that latent fear of misdiagnosis.

I haven't visited a doctor yet largely due to the whole Swine Flu© pandemic that's gripped the nation. The last time I popped my head in the clinic, they were eager to give me a face mask and have me sit in isolation before even writing down what I was in for. You can "never be too careful," when, indeed, you can. I'm not afraid of the flu, whatever form it takes. If I catch it, I'll either get better or I'll die, usually within fairly short order.

I am, however, afraid of slow wasting diseases. I lost a very dear friend of mine to cancer when I was a very young. Perhaps the only thing that disgusted me more than the disease itself was the treatment for it. Treatments which, after nearly 15 years of development, and millions of dollars of research, are still in the relative stone-age.

Chemotherapy scares the shit out of me. Radiation therapy bothers me on a subtle level. But most of all, the thought of being ill for a very, very long time, with no guarantee of a recovery ever, keeps me up at night. Organizations and people refer to things like cancer and diabetes as a war. In my mind, it's like the War on Terror. An agonizing trial of suffering, year after year, in pursuit of an abstract victory that's more elusive than the enemy.

I imagine, for a few of you, this entry has you screaming "Go to the fucking doctor, already!" I've heard it already. Who knows? By the time you read this, I might be on my way already. Or maybe not. Everyone has their fears in life. I've addressed most of mine, and I'll probably end up addressing this one too. I've never shirked and I've never run when it really mattered. At least when it comes to other people.

Looking after myself. Well, that's something else entirely.