So, I went back to the plastic surgeon on Friday to check the progress of TOM. Boy, my memory sucks.
I didn't get his office right at all. His couches aren't red, they're green. With purple chairs to accent. It wasn't as dimmed as I remembered, either. And definitely no candles or complimentary mimosa and Botox. What a letdown.
The metrosexual nurse practitioner was replaced by an ordinary-looking girl. She was wearing black hose with her black flats. Not exactly what you see on the cool people at a club.
Me? Not impressed.
She took me into the patient room. And my awesome leather patient chair? Had paper over it. Like any old doctor's office. My memory may suck, but I swear there was no paper on the chair last time. So disappointed. She did use the cool tablet thing, though, so I was relieved to find TOM wasn't making me hallucinate.
Anyway, she typed some things up and left me alone to read the many pamphlets around the room. I'm starting to wonder if they leave you alone with all these ads so you will beg the plastic surgeon to make you "pixel perfect" or to tell you about Laser360 or to let you take the Dysport challenge for frown lines. I kind of wish he could do something about my eyes. I thought I had read a pamphlet (from across the room) about mammary gel (you know, like the gland?), but it turns out after further scrutiny, it was actually memory gel.
Hmm, now that I think about it, I probably should have read that one.
After a long wait (seriously, this was nothing at all like my first appointment), he showed up. And, by the way, while I was waiting, would it have killed him to have a nail technician on standby to give me a manicure? Or a polish change? At the very least, leave nail polish remover and a nail file on the counter? What kind of operation is he running here?
What was I saying? Oh yeah. He came in and (cue the angels singing), he wanted to schedule my surgery for Monday. Oh, happy day! I was in love with him again. I wondered if he was married. I then thought of all the free procedures I could get if I was his girlfriend. And I told my sister I could get her free stuff, too! But then figured he and his metrosexual nurse were probably gay. Otherwise, they wouldn't be going clubbing on their lunch hour. Sigh.
So, today, I went in for my procedure. I didn't know what to expect. He had probably told me on Friday, but I was too busy wondering if he was gay to pay attention. Turns out this was like a surgery. I had to change into a gown, wear paper shoes and a paper hairnet thing. I was taken into another room where 5 masked people in scrubs were waiting.
Wait, what? I thought this was just a minor break-up between TOM and me? Was I in the wrong room? I saw my cute plastic surgeon, who looked even cuter in scrubs, and began to panic. My palms started to sweat. I was in an operating room. The fact that Santana was playing in the background was not at all comforting.
They were all very nice to me. I tend to make jokes when I'm nervous, so they were all laughing. Probably not a good thing when working on my head. You know, with the jerking and all. The surgical site was cleaned and prepped. My doctor numbed me up, took the thing out in less than 10 minutes, and left. I was cleaned up and sent on my way. Yes, it really was that simple.
And now, here I sit, with an ice pack wrapped around my head. The numbing is starting to wear off, which sucks.
Good thing they gave me a prescription for Vicodin.
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