my guy

"Living just to find emotion hiding somewhere in the night."

Well ladies, I did say in my last post that I would write about the first date in more detail once I calmed down a bit, but now it is becoming abundantly clear that I will never calm down and so I might as well just bite the bullet and write this post. 

I'm desperately trying to think of ways to describe my man. Firstly, I'm calling him "my man", so that at least gives some indication of where my head is at. Secondly, it's 3am, and I'm on night shift at work, so I do give myself permission to wax lyrical if I so choose. 

I should start off by saying that I have no idea what  my relationship status is right now. One date doesn't qualify as anything really. Certainly not for him. It means a lot to me, because there were a whole lot of firsts for me in that one package, but he's definitely been there, done that. So we met up at a nice beach, went for a walk along it, just chatting. He told me about his screed of ex-girlfriends, most of which scared the bejeezus out of me. I'm certainly different from the rest of them! Not sure if that's a good thing or not. 

He told me about his ambitions, and really, it was like the worse job interview ever. He kept telling me about stuff that he's good at. Well, I guess it worked because I was fucking impressed. In an odd way, I was doing the opposite. Like, I'm not that great, please don't be disappointed.  

We walked for about an hour, totally didn't realise it was for that long, and he took me to a cafe for another hour or so and a chat. And over coffee he was telling me about his house. 

"If you like, I can give you a tour." He said tentatively. And so we went back to his place. Which apparently is not normal for a first date according to most of my friends. And I guess that for my first date ever, it was a little out of the ordinary. But it felt right and I felt safe and so I went. 

He showed me around the house, showed me the renovations that he had been doing and then showed me his room. Let me say right off the bat that he owns some damn good music. So he played me some music as we sat on his bed and chatted some more. And he started getting quite touchy. I mean, when we were on our walk, he was helping me up and he'd tap me every now and then to redirect me. But in his room, he was tickling me (way too much) and sliding his hand up and down my leg. 

Come leaving time, he walked me to my car, and just as I was about to get in, he grabbed me and pulled me into him and kissed me. Out there in the bitter cold, on the road by my car. I had expected maybe a little kiss, a quick peck, or even just a peck on the cheek. After all, he does know I've never had a boyfriend before, never been kissed. 

But it wasn't like that at all. He was very gentle, just wrapped me in his arms and then I suddenly found myself in a long, passionate kiss, tongues and all. When we broke apart I was quite speechless, and just when I was about to break away, he pulls me close again, tilts my chin and we're off again. 

the re-return

This, my friends, is the story of the re-return. 

And today is the day where I have stopped separating fantasy from reality. I have no idea what was real and what was in my head. So, my hot cop re-returned for me. In a way that I had somewhat dreamt of, but clearly did not think would ever happen. 

So let's start from the very beginning and I will attempt to tell this story with some sort of eloquence. 

I'm having coffee at work with friends, in a secret staff cafe, hidden in the hospital, chatting and enjoying what will be the first relaxing day in 3 months. My pager goes and I answer it on my mobile. It's my home ward and a nurse answers. "Judith Marie! You have a visitor here, he's a policeman and you are in trouble!" 

A million possibilities run through my head. What did I do? Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble? Why would the police want to talk to me? The nurse on the other end becomes more flustered with the questions I'm firing at her so she just hands the phone over. 

He starts with, "I'm here because there is a patient downstairs who I have just brought through to ED. He had a seizure while driving." Now worse possibilities are flitting through my head. Did I discharge someone too early? And then they had a seizure and now the police want to charge me with something? Will the medical council get involved?

Terror is about to take hold, and it must be clear that I've got the wrong end of the stick. "Do you remember me? I'm the policeman that was there when you mother had her accident." 

And then all the pieces fall into place. 

Firstly, I'm relieved as fuck that I'm not in some sort of trouble. Secondly, disbelief takes hold. Meanwhile, he's still talking. 

"I'm on your ward, I remembered you telling me and I thought I'd pop by and say hi. Are you around at all?"

I explain that I am nowhere near the ward, and that unfortunately my location isn't easy to describe. If I send him on a trip looking for me, we could be missing each other for days. 

He asks me how far away I am, I say, a few minutes, he says he really should get back on the road, and I head back to the ward. I burst in with my registrar and there he is, standing out like a sore thumb in my home ward, smiling at me in all his uniformed glory. Blonde hair slicked back, blue eyes shining and looking more than a wee bit sheepish.

I saunter up to him and say hello and my registrar rushes past, not exactly the master of subtlety she keeps ducking round the door to catch glimpses of us. 

There is some small banter, he asks me how my mother is, chats a bit about my father, and a bit about work. I know he should have left ages ago, he tells me he's left his partner in ED to do all the work while he's come up to look for me. 

"Would you like to meet up, outside of this place?" And he gestures to the hospital in general. And he saves my number on his phone. 

Later he texts me and tells me that today was the first car crash that they had brought to my hospital in over a year. And he took a chance and came to find me. Our rosters are both slightly hellish, but we've penciled in Sunday night...having a caffeinated drink before going to work. By some garish coincidence, we are both on night shift. 

After our chat he says he absolutely must get going, I hope he doesn't get in trouble for my sake. He says he'll text me. And he does. As soon as he gets off work. He tells me he's glad he took a chance and tried to find me. 

well, it's a good job, better than a courier driver. that's the worst job ever.

"Roll the window down, this cool night air is curious."

Well, nothing to report on the weight front I'm afraid. My eating is more erratic than ever. I've gone back to eating whenever I get the chance and eating whatever I can get my hands on. Unfortunately this usually means something fried at the hospital staff canteen. When I'm not at work I'm out with the boys, at dessert places and eating salted caramel gelato and things like that. 

I'm updating you all because I absolutely MUST tell you about this guy. The other night my mother had a car accident, she's not hurt at all, our car is a bit damaged, but it was a 4 car pile up on the motorway and so the police were all up in it. 

Dad and I had to go pick her up from the scene, and that is where I met THE HOTTEST COPPER I HAVE EVER SEEN. He was tall, rather well built, and extremely handsome. Short, close cut blonde hair, great jaw and cheekbones and smiling eyes. When we arrived dad ran straight for mum, and I was asking about what happened. The first thing he told me was that my mum had told them that I was a doctor. The second thing he said was, "I don't suppose you doctors have much time for dating?" 

And I, stupidly, did not know how to respond. He asked me what hospital I worked for, was surprised that he had never seen me before as he was often there patrolling. Asked for my name and gave me his and that's the end of that really. Oh, and he waved at me from his patrol car as he drove past. 

Still, I've been thinking about him since then. God, I'd love to fuck him. I do hope I bump into him again. Somehow. I'm admitting in ED tomorrow and I'll be dressing well, just on the off chance that I do bump into him. You never know. 

In the meantime I've been telling all my friends about him. I have to say...even I thought he was slightly hitting on me. Which was nice, because I don't think anyone has done that before. Made me feel quite cute. 

graduation perfection

"We barely remember what came before this precious moment, choosing to be here right now, hold on, stay inside..."

I've been traveling on this road for so long and now in a few short hours it will officially come to an end. I will graduate. 6 years for a bachelor degree seems far too long and I seem far too emotional for a ceremony that I didn't even want to go to. 

After the weekend from hell and shedding my first tears at work, I've been feeling too traumatised to be on the wards. But still somehow I've been dragging myself out of bed each morning to go to work. And now I get to graduate. 

I have the dress, I have the shoes, I have the MASSIVE black pearl pendant necklace, I have the eyelashes and the lipstick. And somehow, it feels worth it. Somehow, I am reminded of everything I have gone through. All the mistakes, all the literal blood, sweat and tears that I have shed and all the coffee and red bull that I have flooded my body with in order to get by. 

Somedays it's been shit. Absolute shit. And I spend my time fantasizing about perfection. Lounging around in bed with blankets, dressed in flannel pjs with a good book and a cup of coffee. And walking around in Jimmy Choo shoes, hanging with friends in Michael Kors and Rag and Bone and Alannah Hill and going out in a Temperley gown. Drowning in a world of designer gowns and shoes. On those days I feel like quitting my job and going into a world of fashion. 

Other days it's great. And I feel like a doctor, and that I do make a difference, and that I do help people. Sometimes, 6 years and hanging out at the doors of hell is worth it. 

I have been getting thinner. I don't know what I weigh, but clothes are looser. People are noticing. I've developed a habit where I can't finish a plate. I can't leave an empty plate anymore. I know my team watches me eat, my registrars look at each other when they see me pick at my food but I don't give a shit anymore. I look right back like, what. You got a problem with that? And then they don't say anything. 

Sometimes, everything just fades away. Joe and his fiancee, the professor and that failed paper, the fucking malicious nurses at work. It all just fades away. When I pull and pinch myself in the mirror and see that I'm thinner. That's all there is. I'm loving noticing the change. It just makes me want to step it up, to see a bigger change. 

I got us coffee.

Haters gonna hate. 

Well with those wise words from ASLNik on my last post, I'm going in to book my next tattoo on Monday. Need to get it drawn up first, but then I will get it done. Thanks for your comment, and you've voiced what I've often thought myself...my scars, tattoos, they are all part of my story, and are all part of what made me what I am today. 

Even though I may have changed, it's always important to remember where I came from, and to remember why I am the way I am. Fuck, you're right. If a guy is going to love me, he will love me, tattoos and all. If he can't handle a tattoo, he sure as hell won't be able to handle my other problems. 

So...my calorie count for today was...700 or 800 calories, because I have no idea if that was trim milk or regular milk in my coffee. I was stunned when I realised for the first time that in a large coffee, there was more than 100cal difference between trim milk and regular milk. 

Totally 300cal more than I needed or wanted. But what's done is done and all in all I had a good day. 

There was teaching this morning, I sat there with the junior doctors, crammed around a computer screen. All of us tired and fading away. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there is a hand, holding a cup of coffee, creeping over my shoulder, jiggling it in my face. I summon the energy that does not exist to drag myself out of the stupor and grab it. 

The warmth from the paper cup creeps up my fingers, my arms, into the core of me and suddenly I realise everyone is staring at me with a mixture of envy and amazement in their eyes. I turn around and I see my registrar Cam smiling down at me. "I was a bit late to that meeting so I decided to gap it and get us coffee." 

There is an unspoken law that the most junior member of the team gets the coffee, and he's just broken it. Everyone is dumbstruck for a moment, even me. As he sits down beside me and listens in to teaching, I feel like the cat that got the cream. With a face like a smug dog, I look around at the other house surgeons thinking, jealous bitches? Not that they notice, of course, they are too busy staring at the coffee. 

Later that day Cam calls me. Are you okay?--- What?--- You haven't called me all day so  got worried. ---I saw you 2 hours ago Cam. Everything is still okay.--- Oh. I was worried because I hadn't heard from you.--- Okay.--- I'll call you again later. 

I call him an hour later, jobs all done. He must be in the middle of clinic but we have a long chat, full of laughs and profanity. I tell him I'm going onto nights. He says he'll miss me. Gosh. I'd TOTALLY be the cat who got my pot of cream, except for the fact that Cam is very much married. Why are all the good ones married? But I suppose that questions answers itself doesn't it. 

I got my fist, I got my plan, I got survivalism.

This is the beginning of the end. 

How long has it been since my last post? A few days? Has she only been with me for a few days? 

Heart in my mouth, feet already numb with cold, I peel off my clothing and inch onto my scale. The digital numbers flicker on the display, and my heart races faster. I know I've been binging this week. In my mind I think of all the junk food I bought. In this moment it doesn't matter that I bought one takeaway meal and it took me 3 days to finish. All I know is that I ate like shit and I expect gains. Last week my weight was 125.7lbs. I brace myself. 

The small mechanical screech that tells me the judging is done. Reluctantly I look down. 121.4lbs. It can't be. I step off and think for a few moments. How much did I really eat Ana? I step back on the scale and once again it tells me 121.4lbs. I try again. 121.4lbs. 

The moment is bittersweet. I am happy that I lost weight. No other feeling can compare to the sight of a smaller number on the scale. Nothing compares to it. Nothing. It must be the same as the greatest orgasm ever. It must be the same as the heroin addict's high. But to me, this is so much better. I try to hold onto this moment, freeze the feeling into my brain so that I can recall it when I am eating and stop myself. 

Is there guilt? I used to feel guilt. I used to think of the professor and worry about what he thinks. I still love him. That hasn't changed. But now I don't worry. Not even his kisses and hugs can compare to this. There is no greater love than Ana's approval. 

But this moment isn't approval. Ana said I got lucky. I shouldn't be eating crap like that if I want to keep going. And I've learnt my lesson. 

I got my fist, I got my plan, I got survivalism. I know how to do this. I know I can do this. I've got my guardian angel know. I got this. 

suicidal fantasies

"I want you to know I'm not through the night. Sometimes I'm still fighting to walk towards the light."

There is a deep, primal grumbling beneath me. The jagged rocks cut into my bare feet, I can barely feel them due to the cold. It's a bitter wind, it's a biting wind, it's a bracing wind. It is one last kiss from life. An icy kiss to farewell me from a life that never loved me. 

It's my hometown. It's the place where I grew up. And here I recall a childhood of ignorant bliss, muddy football stained t-shirts and cream cakes and scraped knees. A time where size and weight were irrelevant and calories were still mysteries held by the universe. And here I recall leaving that behind and entering a different world that was not so kind and not so forgiving. 

School balls and Valentines and boyfriends and shopping malls. Those were never meant for a girl like me. They were not part of my world of textbooks and calculators and tutors and exams. I'm not sure if I ever lusted after them. 

Years of trouble. Taunting. Teasing. Loathing. Hatred. Self-harm. Now I am old enough to recognise it as abuse. At the hands of my classmates, my so-called friends, my family. One day I'm stupid. One day I'm fat. One day I'm ugly. One day I'm unworthy. Everyday I am something that I wish I was not. This is what became my reality. 

If my reality is a cage from which I cannot escape then I care not to know what the general populus knows as reality. Because it is irrelevant. 

The grumbling beneath me grows, the stones I stand on start to tremble, my heart begins to race, my body begins to shake with the adrenalin that pumps through me. Automatic and accurate, one foot moves in front of the other and I wriggle them once I am balancing on the smooth metal railings of salvation. 

I want to dance. I have never felt so full of anticipation, so powerful. Now I understand that none of it ever mattered. In this moment in time, none of it ever mattered and I am happy. There is no doubt. There is no regret. There is no shame or sorrow. I am finally getting what I want. 

It's so close. I can hear it now. The vibration down the line is like electricity coursing through my veins. Under my breath I hum that dear old tune that's kept me comfortable for years "she's got a ticket to ride and she don't care". 

I can't see. The light is too bright. I can't hear anything but my heartbeat above the roar fast approaching. The dense night air rushes towards me, carrying with it the promise of resolution. 

I spread my arms to embrace whatever may come. 

I think of all those I love. 

The one promise I did keep - I loved them till whatever end. 

I am engulfed by the light and the noise. 

One big hum. 

The cold becomes warmth. 

The light becomes darkness. 

The heartbeat slows. 

This is freedom of choice. 

I have never been so happy. 

plan for tomorrow, I promise you, you're going to be okay

"We're right here beside you, and right here we will stay. Plan for tomorrow, because I swear to you, you're going to be okay." 

I apologise for my absence. The truth is, I'm thinking of taking a wee break from blogging, and from everything. I don't really understand what's happened. Or how. 

Well, that's not true. I think the truth is more like, there is a huge battle going on in my head right now and it makes me utterly incapable of doing anything, including doing this blog. 

The small part of me that wants recovery is rearing it's head again. It's ugly, ugly head. I've been feeling this way since I saw the professor. 

He asked me how many ribs I could see. I told him that right now I could only see 2 of them.  Down from 4 ribs. How I have failed in life. The look he gives me is one that I have trouble reading, and trouble believing. It's a strange mix of concern, amusement and sadness. 

"I know you can still see your ribs because I can feel them when I hug you." 

In my head I celebrate this sentence. 

This must be what it feels like to be loved. 

Part of me is sad. Because now I realise that in all my 22 years of life, this is the first time I've felt loved. 

It's an unspeakable security, an unfaltering tenderness, a place I belong. 

That warmth that spreads throughout a body when one swallows hot soup. That's how I feel all the time. Always warm. Filled with the assurance of safety. 

Filled with the vulnerability that I have been sheltering for so long. 

In a way it feels good to let some of that go. 

So much of what I have worried over for so long is now leaving me. And all it took was for one person to show that they care. 

A new kind of restlessness has filled my bones.

The agitation of joy. Of having motivation. And the relief of not constantly questioning myself and all that I do. 

I feel so blessed.

How did I find the professor?

A man with no children, who can never have children of his own, but desperately wants a daughter. 

How did he find me?

A girl who has spent most of her life wanting the love and approval of a father who can't ever give it to her. 

I know that he hides his affection for me from his wife.

She has her own set of problems. If she knew mine, she'd fall apart. I am a daughter to her. And following in her ED footsteps. 

When it's just the professor, things are somehow calmer. Open.

He reaches for me. Pulls me into his chest. Wraps his arms around me and squeezes. 

"It's so good to see you."

Peck on the cheek. I crinkle my nose and giggle.

In those moments I feel perfect. 

Not a thing that I would change. Not one thing.

Pity it never lasts long.

As I sit and I feel my thighs touch, I imagine getting liposuction in my head. 

I imagine having a gap between them.

I feel so unhappy with how fat I am. Desperately so. 

I hate lying to him. Really I do.

I hate upsetting him, a better daughter would just obey. 

But I'm not a better daughter. And I can't obey this one thing.

Plan for tomorrow. Those three words mean different things to the two of us.

For him it means me getting over this. Looking at food normally. No more cutting. Gaining some weight. And just a little confidence. Then the two of us moving forwards along the same path.

For me it means thin. And thin. And blood and thin. And thin.

I'm on call...to be there.

Spent the weekend on call. Exhausted beyond belief. Seeing patients freaks me out. Being on call makes me realise that in November, I will be the only doctor on call and when someone crashes and start to die, it will be up to me and me alone to do something about it. I'm going to kill so many people. 

I so don't feel ready to be a doctor. Unfortunately. I want to be good at it. But right now, I'm just not. 

Thanks for all the comments on my last blog post. I'm so glad you enjoyed a more upbeat entry. After a week of being vegan, I'm still loving it. My parents hate it because I can't eat anything they cook. But I'm feeling much more healthy. I have to cook all my own food and it actually tastes better. 

Plus, being vegan, I can get away with eating a reasonable amount and actually only taking in 400cal total. On top of that I go to the gym and work off about 300cal. A net intake of 100cal a day. Which is amazing. I must say, I do fatigue much faster at the gym. Much faster. I could normally do about 400-500cal at the gym but I can barely manage 300cal, I'm so tired. Still, it's pretty good progress. 

I weighed in at 122lbs at the start of my vegan venture. 7 days in, I've weighed myself again and I'm 118lbs. I'm also stunned at the rate of weight loss. 4lbs a week is more than I had hoped for. And if I can be vegan and be on call for 3 days in a row and survive, then I can be vegan every week. 

This means I'm only 3lbs from my next goal weight. I can barely believe that at all. Hopefully by the end of next week I will be at my next goal weight. 

During the course of this week I could feel that I was getting thinner. It's an amazing feeling, actually noticing the weight come off. The pants I wore at the start of the week were loose by the end of the week. The denim shorts I wore are so loose that they are falling down. 

It's a really odd place to be. On one hand, I can tell that I'm shrinking and that makes me unbelievably happy. But on the other hand, I don't feel any thinner and I'm just noticing more spots that need more fat off. So I guess I am going in the right direction, but I'm not there yet. As of now, at 118lbs, I am 28lbs from my ultimate goal weight. Well, the upper end of my ultimate goal weight. 28lbs seems so far away. I'm not sure if I can do it. But I know I'm trying!

I love you all my lovely skinnies! Stay strong, think thin and together we will be beautiful!

blood diamonds

Thank you to Zapfire, Jackie, Domino and Fiona for your comments on my last post. Thank you all for being so supportive of me, and for all your kind words. I appreciate them all and I love reading them. 

I look down at my finger and I see them sparkle like the sun on the sea. 3 dainty little diamonds sitting in a little platinum heart on a thin platinum band. I slide it off my pudgy finger. Such a beautiful thing deserves a more worthy bearer than me. Ungrateful little bitch. My ring cost more than any of the engagement rings of my married friends. I should be happy. Why aren't I happy? 

It means nothing to me. It symbolises the hollowness and ego boost that comes with any consumerist comfort. My father proudly paid for it but it makes me think of all the torment and all the tears and blood that I have spilt on his account. Blood diamonds, that's what they are. Tiffany&Co hearts might be a symbol of love but I don't feel loved at all. It's all a bit too little, too late. 

In a strange way it is better than any cut I could ever make on my body. It's a tauntingly, hauntingly beautiful reminder that I am not enough, that I am not worthy, that I am not beautiful. 

This house holds no sentiment for me. No place ever has. It's just a roof to sleep under, shared with people who all want something from me. It's all I've ever known. I do not feel safe here. I do not feel loved here. I do not feel I belong here. 

I used to want to make it work. I wanted to feel what every child should feel from their parents. I want to be loved unconditionally. Loved for all my faults and all my deficiencies. I used to want a happily ever after. I wanted a fresh start. To go back to zero and forget all the hurt and start new and be a proper family. 

That's not possible. They would never understand. They aren't capable of giving me what I want and what I need. The only option is to go. 

Some people tell me that the professor cares about me. If this is what it feels like to be cared for then it is nothing short of absolutely terrifying. I was hoping he'd forget all that I said to him. I was hoping to let it slide on by into the cold depths of my memory where I would file it under "near misses". But he wants to see me this weekend and I don't know what to do. I don't really have a choice. All I can try to do is damage control. 

Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. Opening up is not easy and I don't want to do it. I have been so judged and held up to ridicule for being Asian and for being fat, for things that aren't exactly bad per se that I can't even imagine what evil I will be exposed to if I confess to what I have been doing. I might be kicked out of medical school. I might be told to take a year off and sort my shit out. 

She's got a ticket to ride and she don't care. I'll be humming this as I wait for my train if that is what it comes to. I don't care about doing something good and leaving behind reasons to be missed. I don't want people to miss me. I don't want people to remember me. Ideally, everyone would just get on with their lives and if I'm lucky enough I will be scattered into the ocean that I love so much. 

But the professor doesn't know any of this. If he did, I'd probably be under psychiatric hold right now. 

Perk up fat bitch. Perk up and say that you are okay. That things will work out this year. Happy and healthy, that's what you are, tell him that's what you are. 

He keeps telling me, in every email, that he wishes me a happy and healthy 2012. It's a very deliberate thing. Happy and healthy, two things that he definitely doesn't think I am. Is it possible to suddenly become happy and healthy in a week? Can I even negotiate new terms? I have a feeling this matter is a very non-negotiable one to him. 

But how will he check up on me? Seeing me once a week isn't going to stop me losing weight. I dare not imagine what threats he might make to force me into compliance. 

This wonderful little world of control that I've meticulously built for myself is crumbling. The professor is blowing away my castle in the clouds. I don't want to let go. 

What am I afraid of? Is it losing my job? Is it the professor? Is it gaining weight? Or is it simply the uncertainty. 

List of things to do this week:

Move out of home to my new city where I will be training this year.

Join the gym. 

Start a new diet and exercise plan. 

Lose some freaking weight! 

See the professor. 

I wish you lovely ladies all a wonderful 2012. I hope it is everything that you want it to be and more. In the words of the professor, full of happiness and health. I love you all. 

I listen for the whisper of your sweet insanity while I formulate denials of your effect on me.

Thank you to Jackie, Gracereturnsslowly, Christina and Fat Piggy for your lovely comments on my last post. It's so nice to find that there are people who completely understand how I feel about the purging. When I feel down and alone, I come on my blog and then I see that there are people who understand and support me and I don't feel quite so isolated.

And thank you to all the lovely ladies who wished me a good day. Because today I had a good day! For once!!!!!!! All those wishes must have added up to one good day and I tell you, I've not been this happy for a long time. You ladies have become a second family for me, so my glorious skinny sisterhood, let me share my happiness with you! Let me rant my joy for one post, normal self loathing and restricting posts will resume shortly.

I finally bought myself a white dress. A nice white, casual, comfy dress. I purposely bought it in a large size, it's suppose to be quite tight but it sits loose on me and is amazingly comfortable. I wore it with my pink sequin shoes, the ones I got from a children's store (as I have very small feet) and a light pink blazer. I felt like a 6 year old but it was very, very cute.

I went to work in this outfit and was talking to TS and my friend Steph when the professor showed up. He made fun of me for a full 15 minutes. About how my outfit was so cutesy and girly, how they've never had a student quite as girly as me. Then he moved onto how short I am. He told them about how he ran into me last week and gave me a kiss and a cuddle, how he had forgotten how small I was and so I almost fell through his arms and how he apologised to me because he ended up crushing my spectacles against his cheek. By this point TS and Steph are howling with laughter and I'm hiding my face with embarrassment.

To make things worse, at this exact point the professor points at me and says "you're blushing!" and everyone just laughs so much harder. Then there is more teasing from the professor about my height and outfit and eventually he says that he means it in a nice way, that I look cute and attractive. And he calls me "bijoux". Which is not a word I've ever heard used before. He explains that it means "small jewel", I say "oh, that's really quite sweet" and immediately blush again.

I've just realised that there was a lot of laughing at my expense. By this point, after being called Bijoux several times by the professor, I must have been quite an alarming shade of red, and I notice that TS has the most amazed look on his face and he says to the professor "I think you're the only person to make her blush". Which of course makes me blush more, and makes the professor look very smug.

Later at night, I pop into the professor's office to ask him a question, he tells me that the white makes me look very innocent and "what is your question, little innocent thing?" I'm making myself another theatre hat and I ask him, if I made him a theatre hat, would he wear it? He seems absolutely delighted at the idea. And asks me if I'd like to go to theatre with him tomorrow morning, he'll have no assistants tomorrow morning and so he'd like me to go.

By the by, here is a picture of a theatre hat. By that I mean, a hat that we wear when in the operating theatre to keep our hair out of the way. And yes, that is me in the picture. Feast your eyes on my fat ugly face. the hat is black with white polka dots held on with a pink ribbon that ties into a bow.

I ADORE theatre, so much. I love going to theatre, ophthal theatre especially. The professor's theatre is amazing because he does the most intricate surgeries. And to assist means I get to view the whole thing down the operating microscope which is special. And to be asked to go to theatre with the professor, is amazing. I don't know if that has ever happened to a student. I think sometimes his masters students to theatre, but as a medical student, really, I'm just there to keep him company.

Today was a good day. I got invited to theatre, which I'm so excited about. And the bijoux thing. And, and, and, this last thing will sound utterly ridiculous, but when the professor walks past me, he always just touches me in the small of my back. For some reason, I really like that.

So there we are ladies, a GREAT day. God, if my friends could read this, they would be even more suspicious about me and the professor having an affair. A ridiculous notion indeed, but there are quite a few raised eyebrows.