|Current music:||the phone going briing briing|
Monica in a Fat Suit
Well I'm home at last...lovely long weekend away at the expense of the NHS. I had the op done and I'm swollen, bruised and feeling depressed....you know the Friends episode where they do the 'what ifs?' and Monica is still fat...yes, that is my face. Hurrah. Remind me never to gain 200lbs.
The nurses and doctors were all *so* nice to me, I just wanted to cry....my estimation of the National Health Service has gone sky-high. All very clean and efficient.
My orthadentist said everything seems to be going fine, although I was very close to having a nervous breakdown this morning while I waited to be discharged. It had got to that point, it was all just too much and I couldn't believe what I'd put myself through (all stages, btw, that they'd forewarned me of- doh).
But I'm home now, my boyfriend is on his way over (he has already seen me, in all my post-op glory, and he's still insisting on seeing me- brave boy) and I feel alot better. I've got skinny again, -being on two bowls of soup a day for 4 days does have that effect, apparently- so now I'm just kinda weak and have looser trousers. Great. Bizarrely I'm craving a fucking huge yorkshire pudding. And vegetables....gawd I miss them. Real food, I shall not forsake thee any longer. Yeah. Who am I kidding. We'll be old enemies again by next week. But in the meantime, I can dream....