too but I couldn’t because of the state I was in. And each day I was staying in the clinic was costing me a fortune. I think the whole trip must have ended up costing me some twenty grand, because, although I didn’t have to pay for the second surgery on my boobs, I did have to pay for everything else, and meanwhile I was like a zombie, pumped full of drugs.
I was in that clinic for two long weeks. At one point in the second week I felt I was going stir crazy and suggested to Jamela that we went shopping and got a manicure. We dropped in to Kitson, one of my favourite shops on Robertson Boulevard, which sells designer clothes and accessories. As usual the paps tracked me down. Once again I didn’t want them to know what surgery I’d had done so I put on an act that I was fine when really I was in agony and could hardly sit down for the manicure and pedicure. After that I just wanted to go back to the clinic where I knew I could get more painkillers.
But a few days later I was convinced that I could leave the clinic and that I would be all right. I still hadn’t managed to do a poo, and after nearly two weeks, believe me, that is no laughing matter. The nurses gave me something which they said was guaranteed to make me go. I checked into a suite at the Beverly Wilshire, my favourite hotel, but only stayed there one night. I took the liquid but it didn’t work and I spent three and a half hours on the loo. I was rolling around on the bed in agony, trying to relieve the pain of my bloated stomach, except I couldn’t roll that much as it hurt my boobs. And I couldn’t lie on my side because of my boobs, so I had to lie on my back. What a great way to spend your time in a five-star hotel. In the morning I had to return to the clinic as I couldn’t cope with the pain on my own. During that nightmare time it felt as if someone had created a voodoo doll of me and was testing my endurance to see how much pain I could take. Well, not much more, I can tell you. I was at breaking point.
The day before I flew home, I managed to go to the clinic and get my Botox done. I was almost hysterical, laughing and crying, saying, ‘I’ve had so much done, what’s another needle!’
All I wanted to do then was to get home, see the kids, see Pete. I had missed them so much. It felt as if I had been away for ages. But I was still in pain and felt spaced out on the flight. I was picked up at the airport by my driver, and the director was in the car to film my arrival home. I felt overwhelmed by everything, as if I was on a different planet. I was extremely tearful, and at one point I cried and said, ‘I think I’m going to have a panic attack, I really need to see a doctor.’ I tried to make a joke of it, saying that I couldn’t cry because of my false lashes, but I felt so low. The director had to stop filming. I looked out of the window, trying to calm myself, and saw a horse in a field, and even that made me feel anxious and weepy because I had agreed to perform a dressage piece at the Horse of the Year Show in eight weeks’ time and just the thought of riding made me wince with pain. When you’re in that much agony, you can’t imagine ever being well again.
I felt like a little old lady as I got out of the car and hobbled into the house. It was wonderful to see the kids, but I also felt overwhelmed and cried again. I can remember crying as I saw Pete and saying, ‘I just need you, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so pleased I’m home.’ It was such a contrast being surrounded by my family after spending the best part of two weeks lying in a hospital bed.
I knew I had to see a doctor so the following day I phoned Brent Tanner, a surgeon I know, and practically begged him to see me. I think he could tell I was in a state as thankfully he agreed to a consultation that day. It was such a relief to see him and to talk through what had happened. He also arranged for a gynaecologist to examine me. I was very relieved when he
I was in that clinic for two long weeks. At one point in the second week I felt I was going stir crazy and suggested to Jamela that we went shopping and got a manicure. We dropped in to Kitson, one of my favourite shops on Robertson Boulevard, which sells designer clothes and accessories. As usual the paps tracked me down. Once again I didn’t want them to know what surgery I’d had done so I put on an act that I was fine when really I was in agony and could hardly sit down for the manicure and pedicure. After that I just wanted to go back to the clinic where I knew I could get more painkillers.
But a few days later I was convinced that I could leave the clinic and that I would be all right. I still hadn’t managed to do a poo, and after nearly two weeks, believe me, that is no laughing matter. The nurses gave me something which they said was guaranteed to make me go. I checked into a suite at the Beverly Wilshire, my favourite hotel, but only stayed there one night. I took the liquid but it didn’t work and I spent three and a half hours on the loo. I was rolling around on the bed in agony, trying to relieve the pain of my bloated stomach, except I couldn’t roll that much as it hurt my boobs. And I couldn’t lie on my side because of my boobs, so I had to lie on my back. What a great way to spend your time in a five-star hotel. In the morning I had to return to the clinic as I couldn’t cope with the pain on my own. During that nightmare time it felt as if someone had created a voodoo doll of me and was testing my endurance to see how much pain I could take. Well, not much more, I can tell you. I was at breaking point.
The day before I flew home, I managed to go to the clinic and get my Botox done. I was almost hysterical, laughing and crying, saying, ‘I’ve had so much done, what’s another needle!’
All I wanted to do then was to get home, see the kids, see Pete. I had missed them so much. It felt as if I had been away for ages. But I was still in pain and felt spaced out on the flight. I was picked up at the airport by my driver, and the director was in the car to film my arrival home. I felt overwhelmed by everything, as if I was on a different planet. I was extremely tearful, and at one point I cried and said, ‘I think I’m going to have a panic attack, I really need to see a doctor.’ I tried to make a joke of it, saying that I couldn’t cry because of my false lashes, but I felt so low. The director had to stop filming. I looked out of the window, trying to calm myself, and saw a horse in a field, and even that made me feel anxious and weepy because I had agreed to perform a dressage piece at the Horse of the Year Show in eight weeks’ time and just the thought of riding made me wince with pain. When you’re in that much agony, you can’t imagine ever being well again.
I felt like a little old lady as I got out of the car and hobbled into the house. It was wonderful to see the kids, but I also felt overwhelmed and cried again. I can remember crying as I saw Pete and saying, ‘I just need you, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so pleased I’m home.’ It was such a contrast being surrounded by my family after spending the best part of two weeks lying in a hospital bed.
I knew I had to see a doctor so the following day I phoned Brent Tanner, a surgeon I know, and practically begged him to see me. I think he could tell I was in a state as thankfully he agreed to a consultation that day. It was such a relief to see him and to talk through what had happened. He also arranged for a gynaecologist to examine me. I was very relieved when he
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