Cluck cluck.... It's one o'clock, the eggs are out and I'm at home on the sofa with a cup of tea and the cat. All in all I've laid 14 mature eggs which is a tidy little number. So at some point (if I so choose) I could knock myself out a football team with subs (Eggs-eter City...? Brest?). Feeling very much like someone's kicked me in the guts, but nothing a healthy dose of paracetamol and an afternoon in front of a Joan Hickson Marple with Ma Booth won't sort out.
Dignity once more out the window this morning as I was presented with the ubiquitous open backed gown. On the bright side though it looks like I won't have to set forth with the suppository that's been lurking in the corner of my living room menacingly for the past couple of weeks. So, every cloud and all that....
Also turns out my initial random reaction to general anasthethic wasn't so random. I definitely remember lying on the bed in the operating theatre and them telling me I was going to have something that would feel amazing. Then I was definitely asleep but also awake;
Me: I'm sorry - I don't seem to be able to go to sleep. Will that delay things?
Nurse: Um, we've already done it. You're waking up.
Riiiiiight. Cup of tea and a custard cream then? Thanks.
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