Alive - and 50% thicker?

Goodness. I think I am possibly a bit of a brave bunny. Went off to the hospital on my own early yesterday morning, and, shortly after arriving, got changed into a breezy gown and a delicious pair of thick, white DVT tights. It's fair to say I didn't look my best. Was desperate to take a self-portrait but surprisingly, my camera hadn't been on my packing list. Lesson learned, should there be next time...

Then I went and sat on a comfortable chair in a new waiting room with two other similarly-attired individuals, although they clearly had more petite feet than me and thus were able to wear the size medium throwaway slippers in cute turquoise, whereas I had to don the less attractive beige numbers for the pedally challenged. Obviously people with the larger foot don't like interesting colours. Hmmm. No time to get too caught up in high fashion, however, as I was then called up to the anaesthetist's room. Nice chat with his assistant who had worked in banking before retraining, aged 30. His advice: 'Don't go into nursing.' Needle in hand was fine and I was so stressed after the anticipation of it all that I think I went under before I'd even been given the meds.

Next thing I knew, I was in a new room and a nice lady was asking me if I was in pain. I think I nodded. I may have groaned. She gave me something and waited for five groggy minutes. She asked me if I was still in pain. I nodded again. She gave me more - the maximum allowed, apparently. It still hurt. I was wheeled into a cubicle. Expecting to sleep, I was surprised when I just lolled around in a daze as the painkillers slowly kicked in. I tried to start snoozing by playing an old favourite variation on counting sheep, my patented OCD Alphabet Categories Game. Post-wisdom-tooth-extraction, the subject was Things That Annoy Me. A: Alpha, B: Bad Drivers, C: Coriander, D: Dolly Mixture, E: Eels, F: Flatulence, G: God, H: Heart Attacks, I: Ignorance, J: Jihad, K: Klu Klux Clan, L... can't remember. Odd cookie, aren't I?

Then they brought me a cup of water with a straw, and a pot of vanilla ice cream. I surprised myself by rejecting the latter. The water crept down slowly. An hour or two later I was rescued by my knight in muddy armour, and ferried home. Then the nausea began. Horrible. Really horrible. I wasn't expecting it at all (stupidly in retrospect since it seems to be massively common) which made it worse. But on the upside, the numbness of the anaesthetic hadn't worn off, so the anticipated tooth pain was the least of my worries.

Now, 24 hours later, my situation is remarkably similar - my chin and cheek are numb and tingling, the hole left by the top tooth is nothing short of monstrous, the stitches in the bottom left gum are gruesome and trailing, the nausea is coming and going - it's all very exciting. I can eat with my head tilted to the right, like an inquisitive cocker spaniel, but it hurts to open my mouth wide, and what with the dead lip, drooling is alwyas a distinct possibility. I was feeling extremely sick after taking an antibiotic, two prescription painkillers, two nurofen and my happy pill having eaten only a mashed banana, so I guzzled a carton of Covent Garden chicken soup and followed it with some Ben & Jerry's. And sadly, I've been going through a Masterchef catch-up marathon this afternoon, so the anticipated weight-loss may have to be shelved.

But it's been a stunning day, the sun has been streaming through my Venetian blinds, my adorable holidaying parents sent me some gorgeous flowers, and it's impossible to complain when photographs like this exist: