An okay day (I suppose)

With some trepidation, I answered my mobile phone, knowing it was Duncan (not real name).

You see Duncan had been diagnosed with Stephacockaliticus B the terrible viral condition that affects the calf muscles and the gene that controls your ability to speak at socially audible volumes in public.

Today was the day he got the results from the radical therapy he had recently undergone.

We’d first become aware that something was wrong with Duncan when he continually shouted at a small luncheon we had organised for another friend Suze, who was about to move to Africa to work with Médecins Sans Frontières.

At first it was rather embarrassing, especially the time we were almost ejected from Waitrose when Duncan boomed, “Mate, where’s the lemon grass?” Almost giving an elderly customer a heart attack, who had only ever heard some shout once before, during a pathé film about the air raids in London in 1942.

Then came the increased mass in his calf muscles. Dunc swore blind that he wasn’t working out and that the tone the lower part of his leg had developed had occurred over a short period of time.

It was at this point that Dunc got himself checked out by a quack, and the truth was revealed, he did indeed have Stephacockaliticus B.

As my faithful readers will already know, I myself was diagnosed with Stephacockaliticus A (the much more serious and headline grabbing version) earlier this year (here) and have documented my brave battle with it ever since (here and here and a bit here).

Obviously when I heard about Dunc’s condition I was devastated; everyone’s attention and sympathy and been solely focused on me, now I was going to have to share it with Dunc’s frankly less serious dose of Monks (the slang name for Stephacockaliticus).

Dunc never let his condition get him down; he faced the illness with the same inherent middle class grit that you would expect from an ex-rugger bugger and former public school boy. In fact during the initial months he positively prospered and my courageous, annoyingly handsome, vaguely amusing in a calling me a gay all the time way chum friend just got on with things, despite his own so-called ‘transitory’ homosexuality.

In September a Doctor suggested Dunc try a new course of tablets which would blend with his privileged gene, giving it an extra shot of arrogant superiority which would hopefully combat the Stephacockaliticus B bug which it turns out Dunc contracted after a one night fling with one of the townie slappers he claimed to be ‘doing a favour’.

And today was the day Duncan was due the results.

The news is that Dunc has the all clear. Which I am a bit pleased about, but not that much.

I sit he writing this knowing my fate is far less certain. And if the truth be known, I wish it were me that was free and clear and not Duncan.

Does that make me a bad person?

Please don't forget to leave your gushing comments of support for this person you have never meet and can't actually be sure exists.

That is all.