By the time we got to the hospital, I was euphoric: laughing wildly, chatting away with the nurses, and forcing Brandy to take photos of me posing with a tangle of wires hooked to my veins and the self-satisfied smirk of someone who had just cheated death. To my friends, I texted: “OMG I just got run over by a massive truck! I’m in intensive care LOL” and to my mum: “Please do not be alarmed, but I have been involved in a very minor vehicular accident.” My right leg was so swollen I couldn’t bend the knee and just about every part of my body was covered in bruises and grazes, but nothing was broken or bleeding. After running a Cat scan, one doctor told me that my brain was in “exceptionally good health” – a pleasant surprise after a decade of heavy drinking and a weekly screen-time report too shameful to mention.