“Hi, Tanya,” the plastic surgery nurse Emma says, and I burst into tears because of the pain and the worry that something else terrible is wrong.
“What’s the matter,” Emma says, putting her arms round me, guiding me into the consulting room. Mum follows.
“I’ve had a temperature for a few days and pains in my arms and legs and around the implant, and I thought that was due to the temperature and…”
“Could be,” my plastic surgeon says. It cheers me up to see him – he is a very warm and jolly chap – but I’m worried and in a lot of pain.
“And then I noticed, actually Mum noticed, that it was very red around the bottom of the implant and…”
“Shall we have a look?” He says.
Behind the curtain, I take my top and training bra off. There is some redness at the top, above the scar, but it’s the skin underneath at the bottom of the implant that is swollen and bright red.
“OK let’s have a look,” he says, examining the area. “It’s an infection: probably started at the top and has spread round to the underside. I’ll give you some antibiotics and you should notice some improvement in 48 hours.”
“Oh, is that all?” I say. I had convinced myself that the implant had exploded and started eating into the skin and that he was going to open me up again and…I don’t even know. Something nasty anyway.
“Are you allergic to anything?” He says, pen poised over the prescription pad – a scene that always fills me with hope. This time it will be the magic drug: the one that makes me happy and thin.
“Um some sorts of plaster, house dust, feathers, um…”
“I mean drugs,” he says, grinning.
He has a wide smile that dominates his face, that always makes me smile back.
“No, she isn’t,” Mum says. “Well that’s about the best thing it could be, isn’t it, sweetie pie?”
“The antibiotics should clear it up in a couple of days,” he says. “Try not to worry about it.”
“Thank you,” I say, cheered by the thought that I might recover from this illness at least.
Meanwhile, back at the dating frontline:
1. No word from the Priest about our date that was meant to be tonight.
2. A message from Lemur Boy: “I used to run a microfinance bank in Madagascar. That lemur is just a friend, not a client.”
Now, I went to a WWF event with Mum about their Africa projects where they told us about the microfinance banks in small communities, so I will be able to converse with him about this if we ever meet. It’s a fascinating thing to have been involved in anyway.
3. A message from a Bright Young Thing which amused me:
“I’m writing a phone book. Can I have your number?”
Hopefully the infection will subside soon so I can get back in the dating saddle…