In summer of 2006, after having my post-baby pooch being the bane of my existence for years, I decided to go under the knife. Having found a “Resident’s Clinic” at a prestigious cosmetic surgery center, I was pumped to only have to pay about a third of what I usually would have to. Woo-hoo!
I was a little nervous, but was reassured that it was the Chief Resident who studied at Harvard doing my surgery was one of the best. Okey-Dokey. Let’s do this.
The first unpleasant element was being in post-op. The pain was excruciating (and keep in mind I naturally birthed a 9+ pounder previously). Nurse Hatchett kept yelling at me that NO I couldn’t have any more pain meds, I couldn’t be in THAT much pain (Yeah, lady, let’s suck out your insides violently with a wand and see if you want a vicodin or two).
Next, the humiliating ride home wrapped in garbage bags. Good times.
Then I was lucky enough to get to steep in my own fat in said bags for the next 24 hours. My husband had to wrestle the percocet out of my hands (“If you ever want to see me naked again you will GIVE ME BACK MY MEDS”) lest I would take them all at once. My best-friend Jen came over, took one look at me, and asked if I needed a priest.
The next 6 weeks were narcotic and pain-induced blur…I kept looking at my tummy waiting for the svelt-pay-off, but it didn’t arrive. In month 2 of post-op I noticed large, hard bumps of fat under my skin (think “Alien”, right before the spawn would bust out of a human’s chest). I had the clinic on speed-dial.
Finally, about 5 months later, I started to see a hint of results (it was about time; they had gotten 3 liters out of me). I spent a week admiring my slender tum-tum in the mirror, privately donning belly-shirts and dancing to Beyonce. This was good. THIS is what I was waiting for.
The next week I noticed my breasts starting to hurt…yet another side-effect of the surgery?!
Nope. I was pregnant.
Goodbye, semi-flat tummy..hello, 50 lbs and an emergency C-section that left me with a “Mother’s Apron” over my scar (and a daughter who I love beyond measure). This did, however, start me on the road to helping others by creating SexCies shapewear-lingerie, which I am forever grateful for.
So…. did the lipo surgery work? Eventually, yes (but it blew all to heck with my pregnancy). Would I do it again? You couldn’t pay me enough. But hey, at least I got to sit in my own fat and come incredibly close to a prescription med addiction.
I do, however, still get misty eyed when I hear Beyonce. Then, and when I take the Hefty Bags to the curb.