My internal Dr Who says it's 33 days and (not) counting to gin o'clock – Susan Morrison

Susan Morrison’s recovery from cancer surgery is going well, but ‘possibly’ not quite as quickly as she would like
A number of different gins, none of which are currently for Susan (Picture: Lisa Ferguson)A number of different gins, none of which are currently for Susan (Picture: Lisa Ferguson)
A number of different gins, none of which are currently for Susan (Picture: Lisa Ferguson)

My recovery is chuntering along quite nicely. I’ve had those big metal staples out. Just as well I wasn’t flying anywhere on holiday. I’d never have made it through security checks with that load of heavy metal.

There’s another impressive scar to add to the others in my collection. My torso is beginning to resemble part of the London Underground map. Fortunately, Swimsuit International haven’t called me for a cover shoot this month, so I can bin the bikini for a bit.

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Incredibly, my liver is rebuilding itself. They removed 30 per cent of it, but like some sort of internal Time Lord, livers regenerate. In fact, you get a fresh liver every couple of years or so.

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Surgery has moved on a lot since the days of the 'Butchering Art' – Susan Morris...

Mine should be back to full capacity about eight weeks from surgery. A lovely nurse in the hospital came and explained Livers for Dummies to me. Well, I said, this is impressive. Should I aid my hard-working liver by, um, avoiding any particular foods, or anything…?

“If by foods, you mean alcohol, yes, you should avoid that,” she said briskly. I got the feeling I had been rumbled.

Not missing it at all. Nope. Not missing gin, splashed over that scented slice of lemon, hitting the ice cubes and the sound of them cracking apart whilst waiting for the fizz of the tonic water.

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Can’t honestly say I’ve even given a thought to the notion of a chilled, white wine with beads of condensation starting to flow down over the curve of the glass.

Not even considered a warming, soothing malt whisky, amber and sweet with a scent of heather on the nose and an aftertaste of honey.

Nope. Never crossed my mind. Only 33 days to go. Not that I’m counting, mind.

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