Monday Mumbling: Suffering for My Art?

I spend most of my life in pain from one problem or another, mainly brought on by years of ignoring medical advice.

Now there’s a novelty: someone with health problems NOT blaming it on other people.

Unusual or not, it’s the truth. If I’d taken better care of myself when I was younger, I wouldn’t have most of the problems I have right now: arthritis, COPD, type 2 diabetes, being the three major culprits. I’m no more sensible now. Look carefully, and you can see strands of tobacco to the right of the myriad pills I have to swallow.

Right now, I have some muscle problems with my back. I’ve been in chronic pain for a fortnight or more , and matters reached a head last week when I had to bite the bullet and talk to my doctor… again. We’re gonna start looking into it this coming week, and this must be the umpteenth week when I’ve decided to “look into it”.

As a novelist, however, there is a plus side to this. I can make my characters suffer the same problems.

I’m a boomer (born between 1946 and 1970) Joe, Sheila and Brenda and most of the STAC gang are boomers. It would be strange if they didn’t suffer the same trouble as me, although, aside from Sylvia Goodson’s diabetes, and Sheila’s gallstones, it’s never been addressed… yet.

So as we moved from Easter into the summer of 2013, I made Joe feel the pinch of too many cigarettes, too many late nights and early mornings, and not enough rest. And in the autumn, he found out the same way I did, by suffering a suspected heart attack.

The difference is, Joe is more intelligent than me. He’ll listen to medical advice (eventually) and he has two people at his side who will make him do as his told. My missus has tried to make me do as I’m told, but it didn’t work.

Not because the missus isn’t forceful enough, but because I’m too stupid to listen.