All I Want For Christmas is… Well…
I have an appointment with the plastic surgeon this morning. I was supposed to see him last November, but typical Maria-fashion, I put it off as long as possible.
I tried to avoid this appointment, too, by slithering in to ask his receptionist a week ago if I could get my question answered without having to actually see the doctor.
“Yes,” I whispered, leaning through the opening as far as possible without landing in her lap, “can you tell me if… uh… I got another…” I glanced around the waiting room. An older gentleman sat reading a magazine and a young man in his 20s texted on his phone. Erg. How the heck am I going to do this?
She was not clueing in at all to my discomfort. I plunged ahead. “Are reconstructed nipples three-dimensional or flat?” I held my hand over my right boob to demonstrate and really hoped the men in the lobby couldn’t hear or see me.
She turned her unconcerned face toward me. “You’ll have to ask the doctor about that on the 14th at 11:00.”
“Uh. Oh. Okay.” I tried to shake it off as a joke. “I guess I’ll ask him all about it next week then. It’s not like I want to Google ‘nipple’ into my home computer.”
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