The news that the Princess of Wales was in hospital recovering from abdominal surgery took me right back to one morning about 15 years ago.
I had just finished dropping the kids off at school and was heading out to walk the dog before work when I began to feel inexplicably sick. This wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar feeling – I’d been getting it on and off for a couple of months. I also had a dull stomach ache, again not unfamiliar.
I just put it down to tiredness. So I fobbed off the dog with a treat and sat down at my desk with a hot water bottle in the hope that it would subside.
It did not. The pain in my stomach intensified.
I was also feeling rather hot and had gone an unflattering shade of greyish-green.
The news that the Princess of Wales was in hospital recovering from abdominal surgery took me right back to one morning about 15 years ago
Prince William is seen leaving The London Clinic after visiting Catherine, Princess of Wales on Thursday
I called my GP (a wonderful woman, now sadly retired) and she told me to come immediately into the surgery (those were the days, eh?) After a few seconds prodding, she said: ‘I thought so. It’s appendicitis. You need to go straight to hospital.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘I’ve got to pick up the kids in an hour and I still have work to do. Also, I’m supposed to be hosting a dinner tonight…’
She shot me a withering look. ‘Hospital! Now!’ She even called me an ambulance.
When I got there, the diagnosis was confirmed, and I was booked for swift surgery. In the meantime, I was given some very nice painkillers. After a while, I started to feel a bit better and, worried that things were falling apart at home, I decided that perhaps I wasn’t so ill after all. So I put my shoes on and wobbled outside to find a cab.
That’s where the young anaesthetist who’d been sent to prep me for surgery found me. ‘Where the hell are you going?’ he said. To which I muttered something about being awfully busy. Very gently, as if dealing with a mad person, he took me by the elbow and guided me back inside.
It was discovered that my appendix was a mess, and it took the surgeons several hours to deal with it. I was lucky, they said, that it hadn’t burst. I was gently reprimanded for ignoring the signs, and we all had a laugh about the fact that I had tried to escape.
It took a good week before I was well enough to go home, and at least another week in bed before I felt even vaguely human again.
But in some ways, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me.
I was in my 40s, I had two young children, a full-time job, a busy, often absent, husband in a very high-profile role – and I was running on empty, spinning far too many plates. I wasn’t looking after myself or sleeping enough, and my diet was terrible. No surprise I got sick. In fact, I sometimes wonder whether developing appendicitis wasn’t my body’s way of saying, ‘Enough is enough, Mrs, we need a break.’ Looking back, I think I just went pfft.
It was discovered that my appendix was a mess, and it took the surgeons several hours to deal with it. I was lucky, they said, that it hadn’t burst. I was gently reprimanded for ignoring the signs, and we all had a laugh about the fact that I had tried to escape
And I’m not alone. I have lots of girlfriends who have experienced the same, in variously different ways. One had a hip replaced, another had to have her gall bladder removed. We’ve all had various chunks and lumps taken off, and we all agree: awful as these things are, part of us is just relieved to be able to have a lie-in.
Call it gallows humour, but we joke that it’s what every busy working wife and mum needs from time to time: a non-fatal hospitalisation, or NFH. Just enough to put you out of action for a few weeks, but not enough to actually finish you off.
And long enough to make all those in your life who take everything you do for granted appreciate you just that little bit more keenly. Which is usually around the same time they run out of clean socks.
I have no idea what is ailing the Princess, and whatever it is I wish her a full recovery. But given everything she’s been through lately and the huge amount of pressure on her, I’d say she’s long overdue an NFH.
I certainly remember my week at St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington rather fondly. Admittedly it wasn’t quite The London Clinic, where Kate is and which I’m reliably informed by friends who have sojourned there is a bit like staying at Claridge’s. But even with the mixed ward and noisy neighbours, my sense of relief at not having to be responsible for everyone and everything was every bit as relaxing as a luxury spa break.
And if I felt under intolerable pressure back then, goodness only knows how Kate must feel. Not only is she constantly on parade, so are her three children, and the scrutiny is intense. She has to be the perfect wife and mother as well as fulfilling her duties as a key member of the Royal Family and, of course, always looking like she’s just stepped out of the salon.
Oh, but she has lots of help, I hear you say. Of course. But she also has an awful lot on her plate. And just because someone has help doesn’t mean life is necessarily a breeze.
If I felt under intolerable pressure back then, goodness only knows how Kate must feel. Not only is she constantly on parade, so are her three children, and the scrutiny is intense. She has to be the perfect wife and mother as well as fulfilling her duties as a key member of the Royal Family and, of course, always looking like she’s just stepped out of the salon
It’s clear that the Princess is a very hands-on mother who strives her utmost to ensure that George, Charlotte and Louis have as normal a family life as is possible, given the circumstances.
It’s also clear that she is, like many high-functioning females, something of a perfectionist. I don’t imagine she cuts herself an awful lot of slack.
So if I were the Princess, the need for surgery apart, I would relish this downtime. Enjoy your NFH. Let everyone else deal with everything in life for once and just concentrate on getting better.
Because, trust me, it will all still be there waiting for you when you get out.
Yesterday my phone died. Kaput. Like the proverbial parrot, it has ceased to be. Even the ministrations of several teenagers and a patient IT man failed to resurrect it, which means I’m currently a non-person. If someone could explain how this represents progress, I’d be grateful.
Prayer ban case is monstrous
Katharine Birbalsingh, head of ‘Britain’s strictest school’, may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but there is no denying that her methods work, giving pupils from deprived backgrounds unprecedented opportunities. So it’s monstrous that a pupil is suing over her decision to introduce a prayer ban after teachers were attacked with ‘appalling’ racial harassment. What’s worse is how the student is getting legal aid at taxpayers’ expense. Not only could that money help other disadvantaged youngsters, but why couldn’t one of London’s Muslim faith schools take this pupil?
Also, I’m sure that one of the millions of Muslim girls in countries where females are banned from getting an education would be delighted to take her place.
Katharine Birbalsingh, head of ‘Britain’s strictest school’, may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but there is no denying that her methods work, giving pupils from deprived backgrounds unprecedented opportunities
Too graphic, Emma!
To my ever-growing list of ‘films not to see with daughter and boyfriend’ (hers, not mine, obviously), I’ve added Oscar favourite Poor Things, starring Emma Stone. Quite put me off my family-size packet of fruit pastilles, it did. For a film billed as a satire on ‘male gaze’ and the objectification of women, it contains an inordinate number of graphic and uncomfortable sex scenes. You’ve been warned!
To my ever-growing list of ‘films not to see with daughter and boyfriend’ (hers, not mine, obviously), I’ve added Oscar favourite Poor Things, starring Emma Stone
● As Prince Harry has discovered, being somewhat liberal with writs can have unintended consequences. Namely, having to stump up a reported £750,000 in legal costs for his failed libel bid against this newspaper. That’s a lot, even by Montecito standards. If he hadn’t riled him so much, perhaps his dad might have been willing to help out. As it is, looks like someone’s going to have to find a job…
JOB CUTS IN THE NAME OF NET ZERO? THANKS GRETA
Port Talbot steelworks, across the bay from where I was born, is to shed 2,500 jobs in the name of Net Zero.
Instead, we will be getting our steel from China, which approves new coal power projects at the equivalent of two plants per week.
Still, look on the bright side: Greta and her chums will be delighted.
● While Ministers fight the Rwanda Bill through the House of Lords, why not add to the deportation list anyone convicted of people-smuggling? That might make them think twice before risking human life in the freezing waters of the Channel. Even Gary Lineker couldn’t object to that, surely?
● As someone who invariably orders a ‘large’ glass of wine (be honest, anything else is just a false economy), I laughed at the finding by Cambridge scientists that offering smaller measures could help people consume less alcohol. Yeah, right. If they’re anything like me, they’ll just order a whole bottle instead.