PASS THE TISSUES; WE ALL HAVE PARENT ISSUES

 Hello Malpals! Recently Julie of Strict Julie Spanks wrote a post touching on some of her daddy issues, and Lion of the Male Chastity Journal posted his thoughts on mommy/daddy issues on his own blog. As today is my mum's birthday I thought I could share a little of my own thoughts on the topic.

First, an update on my health situation. I haven't gained or lost any body parts since my last post. The parts I have remained more or less the same size, save for one vital organ; I was feeling very horny after sleeping for the best part of five days! I've heard the orgasm referred to as "la petite mort," or "little death." The term generally refers to the brief feeling of euphoria and weakening of consciousness that we experience after cumming. I've also heard of the phrase being linked with the shame you can feel after achieving orgasm. I used to feel that, sometimes, in my late teens and early twenties (as I've said before, I was a very late starter!). Professional downer Arthur Schopenhauer said "directly after copulation the devil's laughter is heard." It's probably worth noting that the syphilitic misery-guts was shagging a 19 year old dancer when he was in his mid-thirties, so your mileage may vary!

Arthur Schopenhauer, notable grouch and creator of the Hedgehog's Dilemma

For me it has a different connotation; sometimes I orgasm and it's fine, if a little anto-climactic, for want of a better term. Other times it will feel like all the oxygen has left my lungs and I'm left gasping for breath. I sometimes put on my CPAP machine before tossing one off; other times I find myself scrambling for it afterwards. It's concerning, but not enough to stop me from jacking it. I may be smart in some ways, but I still let my stupid animal brain do a lot of the driving. I've definitely had a couple of the latter type of climax early this week, but sometimes you just have to crank one out, you know?

WHO HAS NINE TOENAILS AND TWO THUMBS?

This guy! 👍👍

I've been having an ingrown toenail treated every week since November. One of the few advantages of being here rather than the flat is that a podiatrist visits once a week. This is great - pre-COVID I was paying for a chiropodist to come cut my toenails every so often, but COVID put a stop to that! When I first moved in my nails hadn't been cut in about a year. The toenail on the big toe of my right foot has been ingrown at least since then. My toenail on my left foot basically fell off in hospital in early 2019, when I was still just about moving around.

Warning: These are not my feet! They are Mistress T's. Photos of my disgusting feet ahead!

I knew the podiatrists were planning on removing it rather than visiting me every week to look at it and dress it. I didn't know it would be today! I wasn't too worried, though I had to sign paperwork acknowledging I could go into anaphylactic shock and die. Mainly the worst part was spending twenty minutes listening to the two guys talking about their golf handicaps whilst waiting for the local anaesthetic to kick in!

I haven't mentioned the toenail before because it honestly never occurred to me, so low down is it on my list of concerns. In fact, since coming from hospital three weeks ago, I've had a doctor talk with me about:

• Blood in my urine.
• A weird skin thing on my back that keeps bleeding; I've been told the NHS views it as cosmetic and won't treat it as it's not in a place that'll stop me getting work. It'll cost £560 to get it removed. I don't care about it and wouldn't have known about it if I wasn't told about it.
• Low blood pressure, diagnosed at the hospital but not chased up because this shitty, shitty care home doesn't have a blood pressure monitor. They're £20.
• A weird skin thing on my chest that feels like a blister with a ball bearing inside. A nurse here swabbed the discharge and sent it off, but I haven't heard back  yet.
• Serious fatigue. I slept all day and night Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. I fell asleep a few times today. I'm tired right now. I don't know why!

It's the tiredness that's bugging me the most. My CPAP machine for my sleep apnoea was like unlocking a cheat code that allowed me to sleep for half the time, wake up feeling refreshed, and stay alert all day. The difference was incredible! Now that I've had my beard shaved and my hair cut it's working better than ever; I should be full of beans! But I guess I'm still fighting my infections.

I'm aware that I've been letting this blog slide. I had a pretty good streak going of keeping it updated at least every other day. I updated it from hospital. It's easier to record positive events, and I worry about crossing the line from being sardonic and self deprecating and making light of my misfortunes, to just straight up complaining and whinging and generally being a bummer. Most of all I want to write something really sexy, or at least sexual; something very unwholesome. It's hard to write sexy when you feel gross.

Last Monday my mother took a photo of my legs and e-mailed them to me! I didn't want to see them, she just did it without asking. I tend to keep my mind busy with other things. Well, I had to look at them, and now you do to!

Worse photos ahead!

The box on my bed is a present for my mum, more on that on Thursday. My right leg looks mostly normal, just a little red! The skin on the left has been awful for about eight years; since the first time I got cellulitis and developed golf-ball sized blisters! The swelling really isn't as bad as it has been, and is mostly at the back of the leg. I'll be up on these gams in no time, all being well! I'm glad she did take the photos, because it inspired me to take a look at some older ones, and I was amazed at the difference. More on that laater!

The tubigrip gathered ineffectually around the centre of my right foot is supposed to keep the dressing on my right toe in place. God knows how many carers would have seen it like that and ignored it! I really try to give this place a fair shake, and refrain from cynical hostility. I don't think anyone on the staff here is bad, but there's a lot of people who are jaded and they're all overworked. The woman who's been in the room next to me for the past couple of weeks won't ring the call bell; she'll just shout for help over and over again. Sometimes the staff shout at her. I get it; it must be difficult helping some our biddy get dressed or help some old duffer to the toilet whilst this woman's screaming for you. I admire her lung power! Obviously the concern is if she does fall nobody will come running.

I sent my housing officer an email a couple of weeks ago outlining four major concerns I've had since getting back from hospital. I mentioned that I've been paying for four carers but only ever had one or two, that my hamster heart (SVT) episodes weren't treated as emergencies, that the home doesn't have equipment as basic as a blood pressure cuff, and that I'm having to pay for Wi-Fi because the home manager hasn't got the passwords to the networks they provide. He agreed these were serious issues and that he would pass the complaints on to the council. So that's good news too.

I decided to post an old photo my mum took of my legs for comparison. This photo was taken in 2017. I was working six days a week on these getaway sticks! The lymphoedema nurse didn't understand how I was staying upright on them all day! There were no chairs in my dry cleaners; I would walk about five blocks and down a flight of steps to a bench to have lunch. They would balloon up even more (as would my abdomen and penis!) the Christmas of the following year.

You are under no obligation to read any further! The next photos are included only for the morbidly curious and for comparison against my current, relatively healthy legs. Thanks for making it this far, there is no shame in stopping here!