Comparing Sick Notes
Sure, there are men among us that simply refuse to give up on Arsenal FC and that’s admirable but there’s something about how we handle pain that seems to be specific to men. The ability to endure sickness in silence is a rising problem.
A man will stare into an empty fridge in a house with a wife, their children and his illegitimate child but appear unruffled and won’t ask for help because it will demean his stature as a provider and protector. Well.
We’ve talked enough about this and how it affects our mental health. Bottling things up like a conveyer belt at Trade Kings. We know the impact it has on our wellness. We will not belabor the point today.
No way, Jose. Today we’re talking about a different type of pain and it’s the one that’s probably the most potent and subtle diminisher of our time on this rock.
It starts mildly enough with a headache. You look around the house for some painkillers. One of Valus or Brustan. Fast relief. You have two packs of both for times like these.
Fair enough. But then, you tend to also have this muscle pull in your lower back so there are a couple of muscle relaxer pills in the drawer of your bedside cabinet.
You don’t have to leave the house or see a doctor. You have a pharmacy in your drawer. Piriton, Brustan, azithromycin, everything is there except a practicing license.
But it doesn’t end there.
There’s this one time your friend that’s generous with his genitalia had a nasty rash or something he showed you on his phone. So now that you also have something similar, you text him to ask for the name of the medicine so the rash can go away. Sorted, innit?
Men, why is it so difficult to tell a doctor the problem so they can help you get better? We’ve talked about failure to reach out to somebody over finances, grief, relationships, career. I get it, we think we can figure it out on our own.
But how are you going to figure out a slipped disc or relentless high blood pressure? Your body is not a 2015 Mercedes C200 that you can get the vigilantes in Panganani Road to panel beat.
That one write-off of your body is the final one.
Can we do better and stop self-medicating ourselves the same way we treat our depression with alcohol, women and the nearest escapism within our reach?
We’re treating STIs, erectile dysfunction, migraines, body aches, red poop, swollen feet, blurry vision, impotence and whatnot at Granddaddy’s over a platter and shots.
We’re not even interested in a first or second opinion because the advice we get from our friends is just as good as when they tell you where to get brake pads. Fascinating behaviour.
