The Adventures Of Alan - A Severe Case Of The Alans

I’m fortunate in that I don’t get ill very often. I don’t smoke, I rarely drink and I love orange juice. A colleague recently pointed out that my palms are orange and, after consulting Dr Google MD, it turns out that it’s a common thing to occur if you consume a lot of orange foods. 

What I would say though, is that whenever I do get ill, or rather ill enough to warrant time off, it’s nearly always because of something relatively obscure. 

For example, have you ever visited your doctor for something seemingly insignificant, like a small mark on the side of your head, only to have to sit and wait whilst he brings in a second doctor so that, together, they can puzzle over the mystery of what’s growing out of your head? If not, you have no idea how disconcerting it is to be sat with two probing doctors, scratching their chins literally saying,

“Nope, never seen that before…”

Because you don’t want to hear that, do you? I never want to be the first person to get a new disease. Not because treatment would be challenging but because I really wouldn’t want it named after me.

“I’m sorry sir, you’ve got the Alans…”

Luckily, I was referred to a specialist who told me it was basal cell carcinoma which is nothing too serious.

And then there was the time I contracted Mumps. You’ve seen the medieval scribblings in history books of blokes looking absolutely miserable with a toad strapped to their face looking equally as miserable.

It’s a virus that affects your glands and, being around eighteen or nineteen at the time, more than one gland was affected if you catch my drift? With Mumps, it’s an upstairs-downstairs affair, if you know what I mean? Ok, forget the euphemisms, I had a swollen testicle for a week which made getting about in anything other than shorts an absolute nightmare.  You know that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom where those magic rocks burn a hole through his satchel? That’s Mumps.

I might cut back on the juice though. I don’t want this orange skin thing to literally get out of hand. I don’t want to head to work looking like the Sun. But at least I’ll never have scurvy.

Written by Alan Hancock
Image sourced via Unsplash