Meeting number two with my jolly cancer nurse and my increasingly less jolly consultant, who clearly distrusts my decision to have both the airbags removed.
He’s happy to whip off the faulty one, but he doesn’t quite understand why a lady (he calls me a lady. Never met me in St Andrews screaming abuse at parking meter, and then self-harming with a debit card, obviously) should want both bumps gone.
Don’t get me wrong, the left boob has done nothing wrong, I’ve got nothing against my left boob. It’s just, to quote the mighty Peter Cook, neither would it.
Leaving it solo is not a comfortable option. It’s like taking a pair of high-heels back because one is faulty and the shop says they’ll exchange the wonky one for a trainer, but you’ll need to walk about in the other high heel for the rest of your days.
He doesn’t seem to understand any of this. I realised this when he warned me in deathly tones that “ladies who had this surgery sometimes find it difficult to buy bras”. Seriously? We’re having a discussion about cancer and he suddenly turns into a sales rep for Marks and Spencer lingerie department?
It’s trainers on both feet and, if I have to fight for it, I will.