I’m a little bit in love with my surgeon, who, as the anesthesia began grabbing at me, tenderly stroked my forearm and forehead, looked deeply into my eyes, and said gently that I was very precious and that she’d take very good care of me.
All of which doesn’t explain the sudden welling of extra love for Big A--especially since there was nothing gentle about the way he hugged me post-surgery and little conventionally tender about the way he impudently said, “I’ve come to collect my belongings,” when he came to take me home :).
I’ve gotten chocolates, flowers, books, home-cooked food, an i-pod voucher, and L’Occitane moisturizer.
In addition, and i’m a little mortified to admit this, I used the “but I’m having surgery line” to accomplish a bunch of odd stuff--from getting out of a waylaid-in-the-parking-lot conference with Li’l A’s gym teacher, to getting a refund on an internet order, to occupying the last available seat at the Borat screening.
And Big A tells me with a beatific smile that he sneak-peeked at my charts while he was visiting me, and that I have absolutely perfect… vital signs.
What girl wouldn’t love hearing that?
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