I’m not normally one to complain about mortality. Life’s too short. But this week I’ve been suffering with a chronic ailment that has seriously tested my will to live. There are many cruel pranks that life has played on me over the years, but none more sadistic than the hilarious double whammy of a susceptibility to sinusitis and a lisp.
People wonder why I sympathise with the giant python Kaa from The Jungle Book. This is why I sympathise with the giant python Kaa from The Jungle Book. It’s not just the constant thwarting in his quest for a square meal, nor the regular beatings at the paws of Shere Kahn, it’s the sinus/lisp combo. I’m there, Kaa, I am so there.
In recent years I’ve discovered that certain alcoholic drinks (and I don’t mean certain types of alcoholic drinks, I mean certain specific, individual alcoholic drinks) cause an inflammation in one or more of my paranasal sinuses on the right side, which renders me miserable for two days.
The feeling is hard to describe. It’s not a pain as such, it’s little more than a mild discomfort, yet the effect is like watching Man City while being attacked by dementors. It annihilates hope, throttles your soul and sucks out every last vestige of joy.
The peculiar thing is that it nearly always happens as a result of drinking too little. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not advocating that anyone should drink irresponsibly (whatever that means); but when I do have a few I’m usually right as rain the next morning. It’s when I have just that one glass of wine or a beer in the evening that the problem arises. And I know when it’s going to happen. I can feel the sinus screwing up its little face with every sip.
The sensible thing, of course, would be to stop drinking, but then I’d miss out on all those convivial pints that do me good. And anyway, I don’t think alcohol is to blame. It’s just the catalyst. What I really need to know is why my sinuses, and specifically the ones in my right cheek, are vulnerable.
I went to the doctor, who was no help at all. It’s hard to talk about this stuff with a lisp. She said it sounds like sinusitis. I said what are the symptoms? She said, “They’re a yellow cartoon family who live in Springfield, what’s that got to do with it?”
So now I’m looking into other allergies, which means keeping a food diary. This depresses me. Do I really want to be making a note of every grape, berry and peanut? I’m sure our hunter-gatherer ancestors didn’t, but then they probably didn’t eat as many chocolate Hobnobs as I do.
It might help to win an argument, though. My wife reckons I’m a diabetic waiting to happen, just because I’m partial to the odd donut. I reckon I’m well short of the danger level and certainly below average. She thinks I’m deluding myself. I think she has a warped impression because the donut always happens at a time when she’s in the house. She says the donut is probably the tip of the iceberg and who knows what I eat when she’s not around.
So let’s find out. So far today I’ve had a small bowl of Fruit & Fibre with some fresh banana chopped into it, two slices of toast (home made) and marmalade, a cup of tea with milk and a small glass of apple juice. That seems pretty healthy to me. Mind you, it is coffee time.
I’ll report back next week.
