I meet my surgeon, Dr. Hickey, on September 22, to book the actual surgery date and go over all the logistics. I have so many questions I want calmed, I want to meet a professional with an anxiety quelling demeanour, with steady surgeons hands and the words of experience to make me feel safe. But mostly I really just hope he is excited to see my boobs; this is just an occupational hazard as they really get in the way of all heart checking related action. Over the years of appointments I have gotten totally used to this. Perhaps I will wear some nipple tassels as a treat. “Oh hi, Dr./nurse/strange technician man in a dark room with icy cold MRI gels, nice to meet you, here are all my bits”.
I cannot pretend that I have not – through the power of being a creep on Google – looked Dr. Hickey up and found some articles of his work and even a video interview. He seems totally lovely; he has an accent and is adorable. Win.
I mean who doesn’t want someone with an accent and boyish good looks opening your ribcage and putting their hands up inside there. Anyone, anyone?
Yeah, me neither. But someone’s got to do it.
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