So one minute I’m sitting quietly at my desk, tapping out a rant about the insanity of preventative Botox and feeling a little under the weather; the next I’m being hooked up to a drip while a hospital intern at least half my age solemnly informs me that I have acute appendicitis. Nonsense, I say, it’s probably just trapped wind (my father was once rushed to hospital with a heart attack that turned out to be trapped wind; ever since, I have tended to dismiss most aches and pains as colic). Besides, I’m too old to have appendicitis. It doesn’t even hurt that much. Look, I can even wal... ooh-ow.

I come to in a fug of unpleasant chemicals. The handsome anaesthetist (is it a rule that NHS anaesthetists have to be handsome? Or maybe it’s those drugs they give you) is nowhere to be seen. Since I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone lift my head, it is not until the following morning, after a lively night in a mixed ward (I sincerely hope that the hair-raising mobile phone conversations taking place in the next cubicle were the result of the morphine they’d given me, and not reality), that I dare to examine my stomach. It looks like a very elderly bouncy castle: wonky, wobbly and full of holes.

For what is a very common operation, it’s taking me an uncommon amount of time to recover. In particular, the aesthetics of the thing are not good: the scars have sealed but it’s going to be a while (if ever) before I’m ready to ditch the big pants. Thankfully, there is one small ray of hope: Heal.

Not the furniture store, but a small pot of gel. I was recommended Heal Gel (£28, from www.victoriahealth.com, 0800 3898195) a few months ago by a friend of a friend who knew one of the brains behind this product, a brilliant surgeon called Martin Kelly, who sadly died earlier this year. She herself had undergone a far more gruelling operation than mine, and had been given a pot of this light, sweet-smelling gel, which proved surprisingly effective in soothing bruising and swelling, and in reducing the redness and bumpiness of her scars.

Heal’s pedigree is top-notch. Developed by a group of leading professionals (including Peter Butler, of the UK facial transplant team) to aid post-operative recovery, it contains ten active ingredients to soothe, repair and minimise scarring. These include plant-derived anti-inflammatories, peptides (chains of amino acids) and protective silicones. I have been using it religiously, with impressive results, so much so that my doctor congratulated me on my progress. “You’re a very good healer,” she said, examining the scars. Maybe I am. Or maybe it’s all down to a little green pot full of science…

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