Nietzsche and Kanye West definitely got it wrong. That which doesn't kill you undermines you until your respiratory system falls apart and you have to have stuff cut out of your head, and repairs. My nose doctor reckons this has been brewing for about four years and, honestly, I had no idea anything was wrong until this year. Unsurprisingly, it's all bound up with the asthma too because - sorry if you are eating here - the mucus that was unable to drain properly was just glopping about and dripping down my throat. A post-nasal drip (not -natal, as I always want to write. A post-natal drip is from a different orifice) will irritate the airways, obviously. Hence the nearly a year of coughing like an absolute bastard. Whether the asthma will be much eased remains to be seen, but early signs are good.
Today was the removal of tampons from my nasal cavities. Surprisingly painful. Nose doctor kept telling me in a very cheerful and gentle manner to "Keep quiet" but it was somewhat difficult. He had to locally-anaesthetise my nose holes before he went in with the suction thing to hoover out clots and bogies and scabs and crap. And it still hurt like fuck. I have to keep irrigating now, flushing out whatever is left in there so it heals properly.
Aside from all the nasal cavity activity, the operation itself knocked me for six. I arrived home here on Tuesday and didn't go out again until today for my hospital appointment. Perhaps it's the sheer amount of anaesthesia needed to fell a person of size, or the fact that I'm a bit older now, but I didn't expect this. Going out today, it felt as if I'd borrowed somebody else's legs. Or that they were made from balloons. Very odd feeling. Most of the week has been spent sleeping and reading about Priscilla Presley. In one of those oddly meaningless coincidences, I finished the book, browsed on the Daily Mail website (shhhhh, I'm sick!) and saw that she'd been dating Toby Anstis last year, while playing in panto at Wimbledon Theatre. You couldn't make it up. And here's a photo, just to prove I didn't.