I picked up my sicknote from my GP practice and it read "Breast Surgery", which technically was right, but I just couldn't get it out of my head that the HR department at work were probably thinking I was on a jolly getting my boobs done. I was prescribed some sleeping tablets and I proceeded to pickle my own head with the amount of shite on the intraweb, which caused immense anxiety, sleepless nights and an impending doom which followed me around like a bloody storm cloud.
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