Confessions of an embarrassing body

Has anyone ever watched Embarrassing Bodies on Channel Four? Ok, I admit, that's a bit of a stupid question - who hasn't be forced to watch it by their overly interested friends and family at some point?  As a society, watching other people on TV who have abnormal issues with their bodies makes us feel somewhat better about ourselves. We breathe a little easier and add a few more dollops of mayonnaise to our chips , while laughing at someone's haphazard boob job, turning to disgust as we realise their 'tits' are actually two massive hernias on their stomach.  We enjoy deluding ourselves in  the comfort that the possibility of us ever having to reach out to a TV show like that for help  is a billion to one. We like to think that, because we have watched someone have surgery on their foreskins or have great lumps of fat cut from their bodies, we have a little more knowledge on the subject of health that your average Joe.

How can that be true? Frankly, I spend half my time averting my eyes and screaming silently in a corner when Embarrassing Bodies comes on. Come off it, no one actually wants to watch the surgery going on, and no one actually wants to learn what to look out for in case we all turn into hypochondriacs and start googling ourselves. (Don't say you've never done it.)

If you're aspiring to be a doctor, a nurse or you just want to mislead yourself in to believing you've contracted HIV when you have an ear infection then, sure, Embarrassing Bodies is the show for you. It's quirky, with good looking doctors, some nice theme music in the background and with a few family friendly images.

I'll spare those of you who have only seen the adverts, (that want to make you change the channel in themselves), the gory details. What I will say, though, is that I have never sat through any other program for sixty minutes gasping with horror and hiding behind my hands all the while. Not even  while watching any of the Saw movies.

The gist of the program is that patient, who is too embarrassed to see their local doctor, decides to broadcast their problems to the world, which, their doctor will probably see anyway. Each patient is videoed waiting to be seen, sitting on some green sofa in a room that can only be described as limbo-like. Everything looks nice and relaxed and normal, until they enter the surgery and pull down their trousers or take off their tops to reveal their inverted penis/ stomachs covered in craters. They don't even pix-elate this stuff! Cue whimpering  and being sick.

It's fascinating though. Not just because I get to see something that TV just shouldn't allow, but also because I just cannot fathom why anyone would choose to go on there.  Most clips of the patients sitting nervously in the limbo room on the green sofa, start with them going into detail about their illness , which is far too embarrassing for them to go to their doctor with. That's all fine and dandy, but their logic fails me when I wonder why they're happy to get their bits out on national television, but not in the privacy of a doctors surgery...  It's mind boggling, especially when people come in and say they can't find a 'beau', because they're too embarrassed. I'm sorry guys and gals, but showering the general public with your embarrassing problems won't spruce your love lives up.

Now, I'm aware that there are some genuinely desperate people who go onto the show because they've tried everything and are at their wits end. These are the people I feel genuinely sorry; not only for their suffering with such a difficult condition, but also because most of us watch them, wrinkling our noses and pretending to vomit behind the sofa. Plus, the form you have to fill in to even be within a chance to get on the show is bloody long, you have to send in a head shot of yourself and outline every detail of the problem you have. It would be less time consuming to pop into your GP. And even after all that, there is no guarantee that you'll get treatment. So you may not even get the lipo and tummy tuck you were planning to look fabulous for Tenerife.

Despite hastily putting down my knife and fork when the show comes on, I suppose that I understand the message that it's trying to spell out to the British public.  It's common knowledge that we Brits don't really like to make a big fuss. We're far too polite, what with all our scone eating and crumpet buttering taking up our time to be loud, brash and mean.

Basically, I think that the point of the show is to make it clear to us lot that we need to get ourselves sorted when we notice a problem, and not five years down the line when our toenails start to go yellow and drop off.  We just don't really know enough about looking after ourselves these days, because we either don't want to or there isn't enough awareness raised to urge people to get themselves checked out. According to my latest doctor, (they keep leaving to serve the primary care system of Merthyr - The Family Planning Clinic), I was depressed for about four or five years before I got diagnosed, and that was simply because I just didn't know what I was feeling wasn't right. Additionally, I kept telling myself the problem would go away and there was nothing to worry about. Looking at where I am now, I realise that the poor way in which I handled that situation was possibly one of the biggest mistakes I've made to date.... I did say to date. There are defiantly more to come...

The point is we should not and cannot leave our embarrassing body problems to go away by themselves, and we cannot keep putting off a visit to the doctors. It's detrimental to our health and frankly, especially when we don't know what the problem is exactly, we have no idea what the long term effects are of our choices when it comes to our health. We need to wake up, smell the coffee I just made myself and get ourselves sorted before we have to resort to going under the knife or sharing our humiliating secrets with the British public.

Anyways, if there is any intelligence rattling around in my brain, I know this; you will never find me on Embarrassing Bodies. Ever. No sirrree Bob, nothing embarrassing or humiliating here to declare. Nada. Zilch. Not a single thing.

Honest!

Well, the point is I wouldn't tell you anyways, even if I did. 

Just saying no... to plastic surgery

For you lucky few who have the privilege to know me personally, you'll all be able to agree that I am rather an opinionated person. (If you don't realise this by now, please make effort to get to know me better. Bring me some cookies. Buy me a sambuca and we'll be best friends.) Aside from that, I'm also a rather opinionated person with nothing to do for at least the next month other than read newspaper articles online. And today, I came across a rather interesting one.

Now, I realise that I have already ranted about the government pressuring us lovely British people that we need to generally be better at everything. But this article really bothered me. To all you 'manly men' out there reading this delightful blog,  I'm going to introduce you to a topic that circles women like a shopaholic let loose at a shoe sale. Something which you think you understand, but let's face it, as men, you don't understand much other than the offside rule and eating. So, here we are lads, the one thing you can't fathom about women - Breasts.

Yes boys, BREASTS. Not boobs. Not tits. Not nunga nungas, (though if you do have the chance to watch Angus, thongs and perfect snogging, I thoroughly recommend it.) Looking at breasts in lads magazines isn't going to broaden your knowledge of the subject, though it may distract you from zombie games for five seconds. Pretending to be fascinated by the quality of writing on page three of the Sun won't do it either - and yes we've all been there. Including me.

Different shapes and sizes don't make us different 

Boys, I know it's tempting but let's try not to objectify women, eh?  We have enough trouble as it is, what with all our 'sandwich making', 'ironing', 'cleaning' and shoe shopping to do. I don't think we need  a bunch of lads talking to our chests and not our faces on top of our problems. I'm not saying women are oppressed these days, but I'm not saying that we aren't either. But, that's a topic for another blog.

Now, as I've already said, I came across a rather interesting article today, courtesy of the BBC themselves. The link is just here >> BBCnews - Health. But, as we are the British population and we are slowly becoming too lethargic to even click a button, here's an overview.

So round 7,000 women in England along are being checked for have faulty breast implants. And around 47,000 women who live in the United Kingdom go under the knife privately, rather than with the NHS. I remember once reading that over 300,000 a women a year in the US alone undergo breast augmentation. That's a lot.

Apparently, there has been a major cause for concern regarding breast enhancement as it has recently been discovered that the cosmetic service industry may have been using substandard materials. The materials aren't toxic but, there are safety concerns. The French started the whole thing off, interfering in the way only the French can. Though, to give them credit, they were fully justified to do so in this situation. These PIP implants were statistically found to have double the risk of rupturing.

It isn't even the risk of having toxic tits that deters me from having implants. If anything, I'd have a breast reduction from a D cup to a C cup but, sadly, I am a poor student without a job and with enough common sense not to go through with it. Ladies, we all want to change something about ourselves, but selling off the family pet and taking out a loan with 1746% APR is a bit extreme. Let's all just calm down. Put the kettle on. Have an Irish coffee. And in the words of Uncle Bryn from Gavin and Stacey; "WILL YOU JUST LOOK AT YOURSELVES??"

You are BEAUTIFUL the way you are. You are born with everything you have and frankly, you should be grateful. Like I've said in a previous blog, and a billion times about the world's population, it's the person inside and not the package that counts.

Admittedly, we Britons enjoy pointing out our flaws to not only ourselves, but each other. The amount of times I've asked my boyfriend if my bum looks big in something is ridiculous. Plus, even when I get the answer I want, (ALWAYS a resounding NO, for future reference boys), I'm still not satisfied. We women never are. But that doesn't mean we should go under the knife unnecessarily  to embrace ourselves.

Plus, let's be honest here, nobody wants to end up looking like Katie Price. It isn't natural beauty and it isn't a true depiction of the typical British woman. Breast implants, lipo suction, bum enhancement and face lifts - all of them just make you look like a Barbie doll. I'd rather look like Ursula from the little mermaid and be happy than fear for my face if I get too near an open flame.

Valeria Lukyanova - The 21 year old Ukrainian seeking to be the real life Barbie doll 

Not to mention all the dangers that come with surgery itself. Women often have had to have additional surgery to fix their haphazard breasts, have complained of joint problems and suffered symptoms similar to 'Rheumatoid Arthritis ', (type it into Google and prepare to be put off surgery.) Some women have even had to take steroids to fix the millions of repercussions of cosmetic surgery, which, have negative effects in themselves.

Girls, I'm not saying the fires of hell will burn down on you should you even consider cosmetic surgery. And I'm not saying that some very obnoxious people may even encourage you to do it. I just want to make it clear that this is 2012. Our rights to be strong and independent women weren't handed on a silver platter. The sandwiches and crumpets might've been, but our rights to think for ourselves weren't. Try to embrace your bodies. Don't allow the media to pressure you into becoming something you weren't built to be.

Anyway, that's enough of that from me. If my negative ranting isn't enough to put you off enhancing yourself , feel free to watch Embarrassing Bodies on Channel 4. You will never eat at ten o clock in the evening again.

With my sincerest thanks to my boyfriend, who lies to me every day about my 'beach ball body'. If you enjoy my ranting, I'm sure you'll enjoy his a lot more! 

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