This was the ideal time of year for an operation. I had the perfect excuse to get up from London to Scotland before the trains became rolling battery farms for humans, for a start. All my presents were bought before the high streets became an apocalyptic purgatory of despair and anomie. And no-one will complain if I don't send them a card (not that I bother with Christmas cards at the best of times). Goodwill to all!
How did the surgery go, then? Not too badly, thanks for asking. The doctors were happy enough. I've got a couple of nice new additions to my scar tissue collection - a crescent under the right ear down to the neck, and a straight line down the length of my left inner thigh (while I was under anaesthetic, someone shaved the top halves of both my legs, which, as well as being 50% unnecessary, made them look oddly effeminate).
Oh yeah, and my right cheek is now swollen up as though I were some sort of rodent secreting piles of food for the winter. Which, in a sense, I am, since I'm back with my parents while I recuperate and they've got loads of crisps and pop in for the festive season. See for yourself:
Not a pretty sight. Not least given the fact that this operation was meant to be cosmetic. But after three years of palsy, I'm used to looking weird.
And there have been some early bonuses. For one thing, it's nice to have a top lip again. I seem to have acquired a dimple, too, at least until the swelling goes down. By all accounts it will take at least six weeks to reduce initially; then it should improve again in maybe March or April; and finally, if I'm lucky, we should see it moving something like six months to a year after the procedure. Which will be in every sense something to smile about.
Downsides? The wound on my leg is nagging me a bit, and I've been confined to the house - and thus indescribably bored - since emerging from hospital.
I did have one moment of existential self-pity. The day after the op, on the plastic surgery ward in Glasgow, tubes poking out of every orifice, morphine pouring into me, I did ask myself: "Why am I doing this? Is it really worth all the inconvenience and discomfort? It's not like I have to be here. I'd normally be in the pub about now."
Back when I had the tumour out, you see, there wasn't a choice: it was a case of get through this or die. Now, however, I was doing this of my own free will. It's not like I couldn't live without a reanimated face.
Then I remembered how lucky I was to live in a country with a well-funded and generous National Health Service. I thought about all the people with similar disfigurements or worse who wouldn't be able to afford or access similar treatment. And I decided that whatever minor difficulties I was presently experiencing probably weren't harsh enough.
So I'm very grateful to be here, enjoying - hopefully - my final semi-smiling winter and reflecting on my good fortune. I hope it's a relaxing time for you and yours, too. Merry Christmas!
headcase
