How funny is this. I am SO excited about tomorrow night's seminar at Mercy, have been planning how to get there, what to wear, and it suddenly struck me that I'm acting it's like my first date (blush) with Dr Armstrong!! Talk about transference. I guess these bariatric surgeons must get that A LOT... "miserable obese desperate woman 37, seeking knight in shining armour to band her stomach. Non-smokers only please". Is it just me or are a lot of these surgeons YOUNG & HOT?? Okay, it's just me. But give me a break, the last time I was in hospital I had pnuemonia and was in a ward full of geriatric, emphysemic old codgers (and that was just the doctors...boom boom).
Is it weird to love hospitals? I spent a lot of time in them as a kid, and I guess I feel safe there, as if anything awful happens and I'm in the right place. The smell of the antiseptic and the squeak of the nurses shoes... when I was in Princess Margaret Children's Hospital in the 70s we always had "junk" for dinner on Friday night, like hot dogs or fish and chips. And every afternoon the trolley came around with icy cold Milo in a cup with a bendy straw.
Why is it that EVERY memory comes back to food?? Damn it.