The before and after of chemo mange

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It would appear that aquiring chemo mange also changes the tone of head wear. Note the clinging to the concept of stubble as some form of staying in control but of course this is a delusion. Cancer will do what cancer does and robing me of my beard is one of the things it has done to me. Or at least the chemotherapy that is supposed to save me from cancer has done. I’m not pleased, but no one offered me an ice chin mask to preserve it. Apparently its possible to have an “ice cap” to preserve head hair, but as yet nothing exists for the man who has invested in his facial hair. All I can hope for now is that at some point in the future I will be able to return to beard growing.

A theory of shorts

I have noticed over the past few months how popular shorts have become. I started to notice that men of my age and older where appearing in shorts everywhere doing everything. Postmen of course had been setting the trend for a while but it seemed that they were unlikely trend setters. All sorts of shorts were appearing and being worn with or without all manner of bizzare footwear and socks, or not. The more I noticed the more I wondered what was going on. I perhaps unkindly noted many of the those sporting shorts where not the athletic types, in fact very many of them had pounches that overflowed their waistbands. It is a sad fact that far too many men of my age appear to totter around behind a protusion that seems to drag them forward despite of themselves. This proved to be a clue to my thoughts about later life short wearing. In my youth I was lithe and bendy and could leap from my bed, throw a leg down a pair of jeans and then hop atheletically around the room while I had several goes at getting the second leg down its requisite vacant tube. As I got older my hopping skills have declined somewhat even though I am in reasonable condition for my years. Getting in and out of trousers at speed could now lead to several goes at getting the first leg in and often a collapes onto a bed, or a collision with some other piece of furniture. The answer is of course shorts. You can see daylight and its less of a step. The amount of time required to maintain balance while placeing the first leg through the allotted space is short, hence no prolonged hopping. Once in the second leg is easy. So there you have it, its not a fashion statement, its not a vanity statement, its mankind adapting and evolving to its loss of balance and increasing girth.

Ah I hear you say what about the young who also appear to have taken to shorts. I admit I was worried I had overstated my theory so undertook more observation. I suppose I must have looked a bit odd as I sat watching young blokes walking by and lookimg at their legs. But my faith in empirical methods paid off. I am not sure when it came to me but I realised that the answer was vanity. Our old friend vanity was at play. In this age of ink and skin art the world is now full of glimpses of fairies, dolphins, bulldogs, butterflies and assorted strange personal choices of adornment. I asked myself the question what I would do if I had just had a pair of matching lower pit demon trolls tatooed on my calves. I would want to show them off and say to the world “look at these beauties world and weep with jealously, be wowed”. The obviojus answer SHORTS! So there you have it the young have discovered shorts to flaunt their artwork. Its beyond me why anyone would want some of the things they have inked onto their legs but good old vanity and possibly the hope that art deco legs might get you laid seem to work for a lot of young men.

The practical day

As for today it was a day filled with family, bacon sandwiches, world cup rugby and the gym. Oh I almost forgot, I started the day by a trip to the GP to have my bloods taken. I rocked up with my pre written bloods specimen bag and was told that my GP as well as my oncologist want blood from me. So I sat quietly as several small vials of my blood bubbled out and were labelled. Another small cloud of cotton wool and tape was stuck to my arm and I was of to my day. By Sunday night I should be able to see the results and know if my PSA is coming down and by blood constituents will hold up enough for cycle two to start on Tuesday. There is always something about cancer that is floating around, ceaselessly, unremitingly and constantly knocking on the door of consciousnes. Time to go to the shed and do some real world work.

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