I lied.
Apparently I do have a crush on my Surgeon. I almost
convinced myself that I was giving myself a pedicure for my own satisfaction.
But alas, I’m just a cliché.
Sitting in the waiting room waiting for my date with Dr. H,
I was feeling pretty good. I was
standing straight, had a nice haircut, and my toes were touched up with
‘Forever Yummy’ red. The nurse led me into the waiting room, saying, ‘Here’s
your gown, the Doctor will be right with you.’
‘Who am I seeing today?’ I asked jauntily, alluding to the
fact that there’s a big team and in the past I’ve been stuck with an eager
Fellow.
‘Well’, she said, ‘I’ve got you with Dr R today.'
My heart sank, ‘Not Dr H?’
‘No,' she said, ‘Dr H was called into surgery.’
 |
| Not my Surgeon |
Fuck. I
stripped off my clothes, put on the gown, and sat down angrily with my arms
crossed across me chest. This was just so un-fun! I guess I’d been looking
forward to seeing Dr H after all, and maybe getting a compliment with a soft
Dutch accent. During my
previous appointment he’d told me that I looked really good, and that was when
I was still hunched over. Wait till he sees how good I look now that I’m fully
erect!
I played with my iphone for a while until Dr R entered the
room. He came in tentatively, as though recognizing his inferiority, and took
his place on the little rolling stool. Before he even spoke, I stood before him
and opened my robe. He smiled politely and I noticed that his teeth were too
big for his face. (Like he’d borrowed his dad’s dentures that were a couple of
sizes too big, so he had to jam them in at an angle) Because he was sitting, I
also noticed that he’d carefully styled his last few precious hairs over his
soon-to-be bald head. Soon the rest of the world would find out too. Bachelor #
2 was a big disappointment.
Dr R asked about my scars, and gently ran his fingers over
everything that had been sliced and diced in the last couple of months. Then he
motioned me to sit, and showed me how to give myself a massage, to break up all
the scar tissue. Even though I was sad, I enjoyed his soft strong hands. He
opened my file, and asked me what my plans were regarding my next surgery. I
must have made a face because he said, ‘I read your file. You’ve been through a
lot. You probably don’t want
anyone touching you.’
It’s true. I had
been through a lot. I nodded demurely and crossed my legs at the ankle,
admiring my toes. Poor me.
Maybe it’s because he had my secret file in his hands, or
maybe it was because he had big brown eyes and was wearing scrubs, but all of a
sudden Dr R had moved from funny looking to mildly attractive. By the time he
asked if I had any questions, I had the stirrings of a crush.
I must admit to a bit of relief. I liked Dr H the moment I
met him (googled him) and I don’t want to turn into the girl who falls in love
with her Plastic Surgeon. Putting Dr H on a pedestal would just make my life
complicated. But luckily for me – I’m way more shallow. All it takes is a good bedside manner,
soft hands, and a clean set of scrubs for me to want to show off my ‘Forever
Yummy’ toes. (Dutch accent is optional).
My next date with Dr H is in December. Think I'll go for 'Festive Red', no matter who sees me.
