The wisdom of Oz<\/strong><\/p>\n From The Sunday Times – June 6, 2010<\/p>\n Let me ask you a question, Mr Osbourne,\u201d a doctor in America once said to me, after I\u2019d listed all the heavy-duty substances I\u2019d been abusing since the 1960s.<\/p>\n \u201cAll right,\u201d I said. \u201cGo ahead.”<\/p>\n The doctor put down his notebook, loosened his tie a bit, and let out this long, weary sigh.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy are you still alive?”<\/p>\n I’ve often wondered the same thing myself. By all accounts I\u2019m a medical miracle. When I die, I should donate my body to the Natural History Museum. It\u2019s all very well going on a bender for a couple of days \u2014 but mine went on for 40 years. At one point I was knocking back four bottles of cognac a day, blacking out, coming to again, and carrying on. While filming The Osbournes I was also shoving 42 types of prescription medication down my neck, morning, noon and night \u2014 and that was before all the dope I was smoking in my \u201csafe\u201d room, away from the cameras.<\/em> Meanwhile, I used to get through cigars like they were cigarettes. I\u2019d even smoke them in bed.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you mind?\u201d I\u2019d ask Sharon, as I lit up another Cuban the size of Red October.<\/p>\n \u201cOh no, please, go ahead,\u201d she\u2019d say, before whacking me with Good Housekeeping.<\/p>\n Then there are all the other things I\u2019ve managed to not die from during my rock\u2019n\u2019roll career: like being hit by a plane (it crashed into my tour bus when I was fast asleep with Sharon in the back); or the time I got a false-positive HIV test; or the time when they told me I \u201cprobably\u201d had Parkinson\u2019s disease (they were wrong \u2014 it turned out to be a rare genetic condition, a Parkinsonian-like tremor). I was even committed to a mental asylum for a while. \u201cDo you masturbate, Mr Osbourne?\u201d was the first thing they asked me. \u201cI\u2019m here for my head, not my dick!\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n And then there was the rabies treatment I had to go through after eating a bat \u2014 which you might have heard about once or twice. All I want to say is that I thought it was a rubber toy, swear on my 17 dogs\u2019 lives.<\/p>\n Oh, and yeah, I\u2019ve been dead twice: it happened (so I\u2019m told) while I was in a chemically induced coma after I broke my neck in a quad-bike accident in 2003. I\u2019ve got more metal screws in me now than in an Ikea flatpack thanks to the doctors and nurses at the NHS.<\/p>\n So, as you can imagine, when The Sunday Times Magazine asked me to be its new health-advice columnist \u2014 Dr Ozzy, as I\u2019ll be known from now on \u2014 I thought they were taking the piss, to be honest with you. But then I thought about it for a while, and it makes perfect sense: I\u2019ve seen literally thousands of doctors over my lifetime, and spent well over \u00a31m on them, to the point where I sometimes think I know more about being a doctor than doctors do.<\/p>\n And it\u2019s not just because of the lifestyle I\u2019ve pursued. I also happen to be the world\u2019s worst hypochondriac. I\u2019ll catch a disease off the telly, me. Being ill is like a hobby. I\u2019ve even started to diagnose my own diseases, thanks to Google (or I should say thanks to my assistant Tony, because I\u2019m not exactly Steve Jobs when it comes to computers).<\/p>\n Understandably, the question I always get is: \u201cIf you\u2019re such a hypochondriac, Ozzy, how could you have taken all those drugs?\u201d But the thing is, when you have an addictive personality like mine, you never think anything bad\u2019s gonna happen. It\u2019s like: \u201cOh, well, I didn\u2019t do as much as so-and-so \u2014 I didn\u2019t drink as much as him, didn\u2019t do as much coke.\u201d<\/p>\n Now, that might be fine in theory, but in my case the so-and-so was usually a certified lunatic like John Bonham or Tommy Lee, which meant they\u2019d put enough up their nose to march the Bolivian army to the moon and back. Another thing I\u2019d always tell myself was: \u201cOh, a doctor gave me the drugs, and he must know what he\u2019s doing \u2014 mustn\u2019t he?\u201d But that was ignoring the fact that I\u2019d administered the stuff myself. And if there\u2019s one thing I\u2019m not, it\u2019s a qualified medical professional.<\/p>\n Which explains all the near misses I\u2019ve had: overdoses, seizures, you name it. Most of the time I blamed it on my dyslexia: \u201cOh, I thought it said 24 pills every two hours, not two pills every 24 hours.”<\/p>\n The funny thing is, to my friends I\u2019ve been Dr Ozzy for years \u2014 mainly because I used to be like a walking pharmacy. I remember back in the 1980s, when a friend came to me with a leg ache. I went to get my \u201cspecial\u201d suitcase, pulled out a pill the size of a golf ball and said: \u201cHere, take this.\u201d It was ibuprofen, before you could buy it over the counter in the UK. He came back a few hours later and said: \u201cDr Ozzy, you cured me!\u201d The only problem was, I gave him 800mg \u2014 enough to cure an obese elephant. It knocked the bloke out for a month. That was in the old days, of course, before lawsuits were invented. I\u2019d never do that now. Honest to God.<\/p>\n But it\u2019s not just medication I\u2019ve given to my friends. As strange as it sounds, a lot of people have asked me for family advice, especially in recent years. I suppose it\u2019s because they saw me raising Jack and Kelly during The Osbournes, and they think I\u2019m like the Bill Cosby of the undead or something. They ask me stuff like \u201cHow do I bring up the subject of sex with my kids?\u201d or \u201cHow do I talk to them about drugs?\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019m happy to help the best I can. The trouble is, when I talked to my kids about drugs, it was: \u201cCan you give me some?\u201d But I\u2019ve become a better father since then, I like to think. I mean, during the worst days of my addiction, I wasn\u2019t really a father at all, I was just another one of Sharon\u2019s kids. But I\u2019m a different person now: I keep fit, don\u2019t smoke, don\u2019t drink, don\u2019t get high \u2014 or least not on anything but endorphins.<\/p>\n I enjoy my family more than I ever have before: not just my five amazing kids (two of them with my first wife, Thelma) but also my four grandkids. Plus, after nearly 30 years, my marriage to Sharon is going stronger than ever, so I guess I must be doing something right.<\/p>\n When you live full-time in California, as I\u2019ve done for the past few years, you often feel people spend so much time trying to save their lives that they don\u2019t live them. I mean, at the end of the day, we\u2019re all going to die. So what\u2019s the point of always worrying about your health?<\/p>\n For me, the decision to change my life wasn\u2019t really about my health. It was about the fact that I wasn\u2019t having fun any more. As I used to say, I\u2019d put the \u201cwreck\u201d into recreation. I was on clonazepam, zolpidem, temazepam, chloral hydrate, alcohol, Percocet, codeine \u2014 and that was just for starters. But morphine was my favourite. I didn\u2019t do it for very long, mind you, because Sharon would find me passed out on the floor with the dog licking my forehead, and she put a stop to it.<\/em> And thank God she did: I\u2019d have kicked the bucket a long time ago otherwise.<\/p>\n Funnily enough, it was the smoking that put me over the edge. I\u2019m a singer, that\u2019s how I earn a living, but I would get a sore throat then cough through a pack of Marlboros to the point where I couldn\u2019t do gigs. It was ridiculous; the stupidest thing you could ever imagine. So the cigarettes were the first thing I quit, and that started the ball rolling. Now I take drugs only for real things, such as high cholesterol, depression or heartburn.<\/p>\n I can understand \u2014 sort of \u2014 if people think it\u2019s more rock\u2019n\u2019roll to die young. But what really winds me up is when you hear: \u201cOh, my great-aunt Nelly smoked 80 fags a day and drank 16 pints of Guinness before bed every night, and she lived until she was 103.\u201d I mean, yeah, that happens. My own gran lived until she was 99. But the odds aren\u2019t on your side. Especially when you get to the grand old age of 61, like me.<\/p>\n Another thing that puts a bee up my arse is people who never get checkups, and never go to the doctor, even when they\u2019re half-dead. I had my prostate checked just the other week, for example \u2014 I\u2019m on a three-year plan for prostate and colon tests \u2014 and couldn\u2019t believe how many blokes said to me: \u201cYour prostate? What\u2019s that?\u201d I was like: \u201cLook, chicks get breast cancer, and blokes get cancer of the prostate.\u201d One guy even asked: \u201cWhere is it?\u201d I told him, \u201cUp your arse,\u201d and he went: \u201cHow do they check that, then?\u201d I said: \u201cHow do you think? It starts with a rubber glove and ends with your voice rising 10 octaves.\u201d<\/p>\n My prostate guy here in Los Angeles says that every man over 50 will develop some kind of prostate problem as they get older, but only half will get tested. And yet nowadays you can cure prostate cancer if you get to it early enough. It\u2019s the same with colon cancer. Mind you, I\u2019m the first to admit that the preparation for the colon-cancer test isn\u2019t exactly glamorous. They give you this horrible liquid to drink and then you have to crap through the eye of a needle until your backside is so clean, if you open your mouth you can see daylight at the other end. But it\u2019s only because I got tested for colon cancer that my wife did the same \u2014 and her test came back positive. Thanks to that, they caught the cancer in time and her life was saved. So my first advice as Dr Ozzy will be: don\u2019t be ignorant.<\/p>\n I haven\u2019t always been a hypochondriac. When I was growing up in Aston, Birmingham, for example, our family GP was a guy called Dr Rosenfield, and I\u2019d do anything to get out of an appointment with him \u2014 mainly because his receptionist was a woman with a full-on beard. I ain\u2019t kidding you: a big, black, bushy beard. It freaked me out. She was like Captain Pugwash in a frock. And Dr Rosenfield\u2019s surgery was so drab, you felt worse coming out than when you went in. Rosenfield himself wasn\u2019t a bad guy, but he wasn\u2019t exactly a comforting figure, either. I remember falling out of a tree one time when I was scrumping apples: I hit a branch on the way down, and my eye swelled up like a black balloon. When I got home my old man smacked me around the ear before sending me off to get my injury looked at \u2014 then Dr Rosenfield smacked me around the ear, too!<\/p>\n I rarely got any kind of proper medical care in those days, mind you. If one of the six Osbourne kids had an earache, they\u2019d get a spoonful of hot chip fat down their earhole. And my gran would give us milk and mutton fat for croupy cough. As for my father, he had this tin in his shed. I don\u2019t know what was in it, some kind of black greasy stuff, and if you got a boil on your neck he\u2019d go: \u201cI\u2019ll get rid of that for yer, son.\u201d And he\u2019d slap it on there, and you\u2019d be, like: \u201cNot the black tin! Nooo!\u201d But that\u2019s all my folks could afford. Shelling out on zit cream from Boots wasn\u2019t gonna happen when they could barely afford to get food on the table. My father was one of those people who\u2019d never see a doctor. He\u2019d never take a day off work at the GEC factory, either. He\u2019d have to have been missing a limb to take a sickie; even then, he\u2019d probably just hop into the factory like nothing had happened. I don\u2019t think he got a single checkup right up until the end of his life \u2014 and by that time he was riddled with cancer. It was his prostate that gave up first. I don\u2019t know why he\u2019d avoided doctors, given that it was all free on the NHS, but it made me think the opposite way: if I go to the doctor now and there\u2019s something wrong with me, they\u2019ll catchit early and I\u2019ll get to live another day. I mean, don\u2019t get me wrong: I ain\u2019t afraid of dying. Although it would be good to know where it\u2019s gonna happen, so I can avoid going there?<\/p>\n Sometimes I think people in Britain don\u2019t make enough use of the NHS because they\u2019re too busy complaining about it. But Americans \u2014 who\u2019ll queue up outside a sports arena for three days just to go to a free clinic \u2014 can\u2019t believe the deal we get over here. I\u2019ll never forget the first time I got an x-ray done in the US after my quad-bike crash. The doc came into the room, holding up my slide and whistling through his teeth. \u201cHow much did all that cost you, huh?\u201d he asked, seeing all the rods and bolts holding my neck and back together. \u201cA couple of mill?\u201c Actually, it was free,\u201d I told him. \u201cI had the accident in England.\u201d I almost had to call for a nurse, he got such a shock.<\/p>\n I just had my eyes fixed, having suffered from cataracts for years. I\u2019m a new man in so many ways. I might be 61, but I haven\u2019t felt so young since the 1960s. Aside from my eyes, the other big change in my life is that I\u2019ve pretty much become a vegetarian. Seriously. It\u2019s my new phase: brown rice and vegetables. I don\u2019t even drink milk, apart from a splash in my tea. It ain\u2019t because of the animals. I mean, I used to work in a slaughterhouse. You won\u2019t see me marching over the frozen tundra, hunting down people who club seals. I just can\u2019t digest meat any more.<\/p>\n I also saw that Food, Inc film the other day, which gives you a new perspective \u2014 not just on meat-eating, but on the whole animal-product industry. I mean, think of the entire population of the US, which is, what, 309m? Say 80m of them eat an egg every day: that\u2019s a lot of eggs to squeeze out of a lot of chickens. And the way they do it at these megafarms is enough to put you off breakfast for life.<\/p>\n Not that I\u2019m into any of that organic bollocks. People think they\u2019re buying another day on this Earth, so they get ripped off. If you want organic, grow your own, that\u2019s what I say. I used to do that when I was married to my ex and we had a little cottage in Ranton, Staffordshire. A veggie patch also happens to be a great place to hide your stash. Having said that, I\u2019d always get stoned and forget where I had buried it. One time, I spent a whole week down the garden, trying to find a lump of Afghan hash. The missus thought I must just be really worried about my carrots.<\/em><\/p>\n I suppose when people hear stories like that, they might think I\u2019m too much of a bad example to give advice. I wouldn\u2019t argue with them \u2014 and I\u2019d hate for anyone to think: \u201cOh, if Ozzy survived all that outrageous behaviour, so can I.\u201d But d\u2019you know what? If people can learn from my stupid mistakes without having to repeat any of them; or if they can take some comfort from the crazy things my family has been through over the years; or if just hearing me talk about colonoscopies makes them less embarrassed about getting tested for colon cancer, that\u2019s more than enough for me. Dr Ozzy\u2019s job will be done.<\/p>\n One last thing: being a hypochondriac, I\u2019ll never tell someone to just stop worrying and\/or come back later if their symptoms get worse. In Dr Ozzy\u2019s surgery, everything will get taken seriously. As I\u2019ve always said to my own doctors, \u201cOne day you\u2019re gonna be standing at my graveside while the priest is reading the eulogy, and you\u2019re gonna look down and see the inscription on my headstone, and it\u2019ll say, \u2018See? I told you I was ill.\u2019<\/em>“<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Emphasis mine. This is why I have a soft spot for Ozzie. The wisdom of Oz From The Sunday Times – June 6, 2010 Let me ask you a question, Mr Osbourne,\u201d a doctor in America once said to me, after I\u2019d listed all the heavy-duty substances I\u2019d been abusing since the 1960s. \u201cAll right,\u201d…<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.flubu.com\/images\/LJ\/dr_ozzie.jpg\")
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