I just been by Dan’s blog, if you don’t know Dan Sheridan is a newly diagnosed guy with Klinefelter’s syndrome, and he wants to start an awareness campaign, such an innocent, he has no idea what he’s letting himself in for! Oh well mustn’t be too critical, don’t want to put him off.
Dr Riseley, Kopata Medical Centre, Lower Hutt. He was my mother’s doctor, he was the only doctor I’d heard about since we got back from England after a roughly 4 year break from ‘Godzone.’ Didn’t know anybody really, all my friends had disappeared, all the 1 of them. THEM, one of! That’s a joke. My other 1 friend was in London, and there was no such thing as e-mail, everything was “Surface Mail” a fancy phrase for ‘shipping & bicycle’, or “Air Mail”, and I hate writing. Can’t says I like typing any much better.
‘So what’s there to talk about’ I think to myself after Dr Riseley tells me “I’m always available if you’ve ever got anything to talk about,” but I never have. Nope can’t think of a thing to talk about, I just want to die, thanks!
Yeah I reckon looking back I spent about 4 years trying my damndness (that’s not a word) to knock myself off, almost got there too. Yeup I managed to write off 2 police cars, 4 of my own cars, a couple of power poles, a phone box, but didn’t quite get there. Such a disaster. Just add them on to all the rest of my life’s disasters. I gave up making a list after a while, it didn’t quite seem right.
Can’t figure out why more guys just don’t pop themselves off to oblivion when they get diagnosed with Klinefelter’s syndrome? It just seems like a natural progression to me, well it did back then. It’s not like life was anything terribly much to rave on about anyway. Years and years and years of scholastic failure. Always trying new things but never quite getting anywhere tangible with them. There was always something getting in the way, like other bloody people! Or I’d show promise, and get promoted beyond what I knew, and fail dismally as there was that one thing I didn’t know, and didn’t know how to ask, “how do I it!”
I reckon that’s time for an expletive!
Dan wants to see a Genetic Counsellor I think? There were them when I was diagnosed, my parents had the appointment, I was not invited. Why take a ‘mental retard’ to a Counsellor? I think that was the understanding of the day? The parents need to be reassured they did nothing wrong, they could have fooled around on some other night/day/whenever, like they managed to choose perfect times for my brother and sister, why not for me too!
I did get to see a psychiatrist, my whole family did too. You can read the letters on my website. Such fascinating and revealing letters, how my parents just did not know how to show appropriate emotion, but then, men aren’t really allowed to, are they! And of course I was never all that much interested in being round them anyway, well not my mother, not the woman who beat the crap out of me whenever she felt the need. That style of ‘parenting’ didn’t really leave a positive idea of her in my mind. So what’s there to talk about?
I did make the mistake one time of mentioning a few things to an Aunty of my ‘situation’ but I should not have opened my mouth. I could have saved myself a black eye! Oh well, never mind. There isn’t really all that much to talk about. I remember one time I was younger, I got a new bike, it was red, I was so short I had to get a leg up to sit on it. Then I had to figure out how to make it go. Hell it can’t be that difficult, even people I despise do it, ride a bike. Yes I rode straight into the back of the garage, ahh pedaling backwards makes it stop, remember that! There’s a front break, but it’s all but useless except for doing wheel stands, which were always technically challenging. Remember do not do front wheel stands whilst moving rapidly down hill! That causes mouth bleeding and front teeth through top lip disease!
Nothing much to talk about, not really.