The sudden re-emergence of lost cheekbones

I don’t often write posts about my personal life. This is not because I am particularly coy or private – I just never feel as though this is my strong suit. I am opinionated, I like to write about issues or thoughts, but I am not a blogger. I can never fathom why anyone would be interested in my life, and to make it so takes a special skill which I do not possess. And, of course, I am very much that writer’s cliché at the moment – my real life, the adventures, the triumphs and thrills are my fiction. My life, as it were, is a little on the boring side.

But when you drop off the face of the earth for more than a week and the last post in your blog is two weeks old, and couldn’t be further from your current frame of mind, it begins to feel a little odd.

So here it is. Two weeks before the release of my new novella Driftwood Deeds, I found myself at home with an inconvenient stomach ache. At the time, it mostly annoyed me because it hindered productivity and I had a mountain of guest blogs to write, a blog tour to organize, interview questions to answer and some erotic stories to writes for the Dec. 1st deadline. In case you wondered, it is very hard to write those when you’re in pain, especially the wrong kind, hehe.

I have a bit of doctor phobia; like many people in larger bodies, it is difficult for me to talk to them, to get adequate treatment, or really just to admit to actually being unhealthy (like everybody always tells us we are). As a fat person, you always try to be healthy and happy – because that’s not quite acceptable, but a little bit more than the alternative.

So it took me a few days of squaring my fear and reluctance with the mounting pain, and when on Tuesday night last week, I couldn’t get a wink of sleep because of my stomach, I finally gave up and headed for the doctor’s office first thing – and before I knew what was happening, he sent me on to the hospital for admission with an extended gall bladder. After some difficulties (I’m being kind here, I went to the doctor’s office at 8am and I saw the first hospital doctor at 3pm), I was given painkillers in an IV and a bed up on the third floor.

At that point, I still believed I’d be out in no time – like my GP had promised, but he’d thought my gall bladder only had to be drained, hadn’t seen that it was badly infected. One night grew into two, between panic attacks and tears, and painful trips back home to feed my cat. I fetched a good book, my laptop, my kindle, the next day a second pillow, DVDs and the number of my internet service provider to get satellite internet.  Plans were made to ship my cat to my mum’s house. At the time, our biggest worry was that it would all be for nothing and she’d only be there for a day.

Tomorrow morning I’ll have been in hospital for a week and I only know this because days have names and numbers. All sense of time somehow drifted away from me by day 2. It’s easier now, I can send emails, I can take care of my day to day business. I can organize my blog tour even if writing itself is still rather challenging. And tomorrow I’ll have my operation. Gall bladder removal. According to most doctors no big deal – that was before they talked about the risks and what else could happen. One actually said, he’s looking forward to a not-so-boring gall bladder removal. He’s welcome, I suppose.

I try to distract myself. I listen to an audiobook of A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, I watch old Veronica Mars episodes and marvel at my face in the mirror in which after a week of hardly any food consumption, my cheek-bones – puffed over after several month of depression – are starting to reappear. And isn’t that just like a girl; losing weight can be the upshot to almost anything.

Now, it’s just week until the release of Driftwood Deeds, and I finally have an end in sight. If there are no complications, touch (drift)wood, I should be out to enjoy the blog tour and all it’s revelries from home.

Thank you to everybody who’s taken the time to send me best wishes, to Alison Tyler, who extended the smut marathon deadline for me, and everybody else who is keeping me in their thoughts!



  1. Oh no sweetie! I wish you a speedy recovery and hope you get to leave that dreadful hospital soon. If you need anything or just want to talk, I’m just an email away.

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