IT WAS easier to publish this “disturbing” image on social media but harder for me to publish it in the newspaper. I’m sorry to make your eyes suffer for the point I now wish to make.
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During university I had Gynecomastia, a swelling of the breast tissue. And it was huge, especially in comparison to my thin build. It really embarrassed me, so much so that everything I wore was baggy to hide it. I wasn't even comfortable with a shirt on. I needed a baggy jacket to hide it, even in summer.
I went swimming with my shirt on. When coming out of the water I would cross my arms and feel like everyone was staring at me.
I couldn't let anyone get too close, because I was afraid they would discover it and judge me. I did everything to try and get it out of my life, I went through the public health waiting list, I prayed, I ignored it, I laughed about it, I called it Bob for short to personify it.
Then I tried performing stand-up comedy in Brisbane, inspired by Russell Brand’s Get Him to the Greek. and ended up as an open-micer about two years. To have everyone watching me on stage under a spotlight was tough, but I worked with it. I exaggerated my personality, my daggy clothing style, my hair, which was twice as long as most have ever seen it, and after a while I didn't notice it anymore.
I was fortunate to get surgery quite quickly once I left the Logan hospital list and moved to WA. It still took a year. In that time I practised AFL for the local Collie Eagles Reserves. I remember how much marking the ball hurt like hell. Someone would kick the ball, and because I was terrible at catching it was easier to mark on my chest. The pain when the ball landed on Bob was enormous. I gritted my teeth and carried on. For one thing I felt none of the other men would understand, and for another reason I knew all women would. I had little to complain of. Soon I had the surgery, but the mindset had been shaped. It took more than a year to learn I could walk with no shirt on without judgement, although by choice I generally don’t. I still have the scars, like crescent moons, under the areola.
On Thursday afternoon my budgie smugglers arrived in the mail. I continued the local joke of taking a photo under Dan Dingo Leyden’s billboard outside of Mount Isa. By unleashing my pale, white legs on you all I had achieved something personally significant, but I didn’t even realise at first.
