I get a good 30 minutes with Dr. H on Friday. Maybe more, depending on whether he has someone scheduled after me. (When I saw him in November, I'm pretty sure I was his only patient all day. We talked for, like, an hour. It was a good time.)
That's right. On Thursday this week, I get to hang out in an isolation chamber, getting pumped full of radioactive materials, and then I get to bake in a tube for another 60-90 minutes. (Not my favorite day of the quarter. For sure.)
But on Friday? On Friday, I get to see the good doctor.
And just to clear any confusion up... (I've had more than one friend/family member ask in the last few weeks if he knows I have a crush on him).
Yes, yes he knows that I love him. I did, after all, ask the man to marry me the very first time we met. And then I took cookies to my second appointment, in hopes that their buttery goodness would win him over. And thus, a tradition was born.
Our "relationship" has been discussed every time I've ever seen the man. (Save the one appointment I had this summer when my mom came with, when I was recovering from surgery. He was really quiet that day. Withdrawn, even. ... Mom was pretty sure it was because he was nervous, meeting the in-laws for the first time. Ha!) Granted, it's always me bringing "the future" up. And then he sits there and laughs through the conversation while I make a case for there being a reason God led me straight to him. (You know, beyond his ability to cure cancer.)
Oh, he knows. He knows good and well. ... And I'm pretty sure he's okay with it.
The last time I saw him was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and we talked about our holiday plans. (He was going to TX, where he has a lot of friends. I was staying here, because I had to work the day after.) One thing led to another, and we ended up talking about our respective families. He's originally from Syria and doesn't have any family in the states. ... I may or may not have offered him five siblings and over 30 cousins if he married into mine. ... As always, he just laughed his way through me planning our lives together. We talked some more about the Tootsie Roll, made plans to get me in for an MRI, and he excused himself, saying he'd let PT know he was done with me and they could take me. As he was walking through the door, I called after him "Thanks for laughing at me... But you've got to know that as long as you're not saying 'No', I'm not giving up". A few seconds later - long enough for him to have gotten a good way down the hall and then have to came back - his head popped back into the room. With a wry, sideways grin, he said "I laugh, because I think you're funny". And then he was gone.
Be still, my beating heart.
At Christmas, I sent him a card in which I wrote "I love you (and not just in a 'I wish you'd give up, give in and agree to marry me already' sort of way)". True story. Those are the actual words I wrote in the card.
Yeah, he knows.
That being said, I have two points of business to discuss with him this Friday. Okay, three.
1) Has the Tootsie Roll grown, and is there anything else in there that might be contributing to my pants getting to be too tight?
2) Can I put his picture up on my blog? (I've had a lot of people ask me if I'll put his face here, and while he sure is listed on the www -- he has, after all, been published over 30 times in medical journals (I swoon) -- I don't feel like I could/should put his face on my blog without his permission.)
3) Will he come to Sunday dinner at Jo's? (If my sugar cookies didn't make him love me, my mashed potatoes will. I can just about guarantee it.)
I shall return and report the findings of all three questions, come Friday. Be watching for that.