Mommy Makeover: StoriesWrite a Review
Kapilani: The oranges are on their way out!
- updated 1 month ago
- Not Sure
- Cost: $14,600
- Sacramento, CA
I guess what I'm having is technically a "mommy...
- 27 May 2012
- 21 days pre
I guess what I'm having is technically a "mommy makeover" that's LONG OVERDUE because I'm 46 now with two teen-aged sons. I have never been "under the knife" before, except for two C-sections, and I was completely awake for those. I am scared to death, but super excited to finally do something as a gift to myself. I have to convert my pictures from Bitmap to jpeg, so once I figure out how, I will post. Have any of you had this procedure? And do you know how many drains to expect? I am making cloth drawstring covers for my drains and bulbs. I need to do this because my teen sons' friends sometimes drop by unannounced, and I'm a private person. I just can't have 14 and 15 year old boys seeing my fluids.
I am in the process of ordering my compression...
- 1 Jun 2012
- 17 days pre
Look at my droopy breasts. I said size D, but I...
- 1 Jun 2012
- 17 days pre
I had my pre-op yesterday. My doctor told me it's...
- 5 Jun 2012
- 13 days pre
My compression garments came in the mail. Oh my...
- 10 Jun 2012
- 8 days pre
I keep imagining myself flat-lining during the...
- 13 Jun 2012
- 5 days pre
I went to California Family Fitness today to...
- 15 Jun 2012
- 3 days pre
I ran the American Heart Association 10K today in...
- 16 Jun 2012
- 2 days pre
Every one of my arteries, veins, and capillaries...
- 17 Jun 2012
- 1 day pre
I HATE the recliner we bought! The thing is...
- 17 Jun 2012
- 1 day pre
I am in himw now. in much npain now. my ass is...
- 19 Jun 2012
- 1 day post
Starting to feel back to normal as long as I stay...
- 21 Jun 2012
- 3 days post
It's Friday Day 4 Post-op. I can ony sit up for...
- 22 Jun 2012
- 4 days post
I keep swallowing my water and spit--what have...
- 23 Jun 2012
- 5 days post
I believe today is officially my "turn-around"...
- 25 Jun 2012
- 7 days post
Today is my 18th anniversary and I forgot! Oh my...
- 25 Jun 2012
- 7 days post
I think I'm the only one now who is on day 9 who...
- 27 Jun 2012
- 9 days post
AND last night the butterfly clips on my great adjustable lounge chair got weak, and in about 25 minutes, the thing now lowers itself to the floor and a normal sitting position again. So for the first time last night, I crawled into our normal bed. If any of you do this, make sure you use your wedge pillow as intended, and not under your knees. UGGGGH! I almost wet the bed waiting for him to return the boys from swim practice today s he could hoist me up because anything resembling a sit-up just ain't gonna happen.
I am concerned about my butt. It's flat where it had a nice curve before, and the right side is larger than the left. Doctor says it was the lipo that was needed to make a smooth transition from the belly fat that was excised...it kind of extends towards the back, and that area needs to be smoothed out and sculpted. I sure hope my body is not done with the process. I'll post more pics once the bandages are off.
HI Everyone, I saw the doc again today, and every...
- 27 Jun 2012
- 9 days post
And are you ready for this? I wailed again for the removal of the second drain. So now I joke with my husband that instead of having the "3 testicles" hanging down that I began with, now I'm down to one.
I have to return tomorrow for the third. Then I can take pictures before I struggle with the new compression garment with the hole in the bottom.
Yea! Day 10 is here! I've been cleared for "light...
- 28 Jun 2012
- 10 days post
Guess what? I cannot have Bromelian. Arnica, yes, but not Bromelian because of some stupid clotting factor that I have that is slow and makes my blood thin. While I appreciate my doctor's care and concern in not wanting me to flood his upstairs surgical suite with all of my blood, it sure would be nice to take a supplement to bring the swelling down.
So I'm on my own, ladies, just me and the clock. Or calendar would probably be better said.
I tried on underwear and see that my scar is high....
- 29 Jun 2012
- 11 days post
You know what depresses me? My new side view (see...
- 1 Jul 2012
- 13 days post
I actually went and fought my speeding ticket in...
- 2 Jul 2012
- 14 days post
For what it's worth, here are my 2-week post-op...
- 3 Jul 2012
- 15 days post
For what it's worth, I've added the pics that were...
- 3 Jul 2012
- 15 days post
Wow. I really fell off the deep end for a couple...
- 6 Jul 2012
- 18 days post
So today was my most recent post-op. I brought with me the husband and the piece of paper where I had printed out the 4 pictures of breasts that I felt looked good. Lemons. All of them. Please keep in mind I had already given a copy of this handy reference sheet to my doctor which was part of what added to the rancor that allowed me to ruin our 4th of July. Husband sat off to the side in the examination room in a chair, probably nervous as hell as to how this appointment would go. I wanted to ask the doctor where the communication fell apart...respectfully. I really do like my doctor and never look forward to confrontations with anyone, so I told myself to take the advice of another poster and be glad that I had the opportunity to have this procedure, be thankful that my stomach looks like it's gonna be pretty cute one day, patiently wait for my cute little butt to return (because bruises do in time go away), and be thankful that I even woke up from the procedure in the first place.
The nurse takes us into the exam room. The previous visits I still didn't feel well and probably was still somewhat medicated and not fully paying attention to much of anything. The nurse would un-velcro my binder and remove some tape and stitches or a drain (while telling me NOT to bite my husband's hand) and when the doctor came in he just looked at a few scar marks and I didn't feel that....naked. For the most part, my clothes were on, just adjusted up or down. Of course, cognitively I know this man has seen me naked because he did the operation. But I think they lift off those blue papers coverings one at at a time, so one is never really naked...and since you're unconscious anyway, it doesn't count. It's kind of like you're temporarily dead. You're a body. By the way, I'm a pretty modest person.
So here is the the case today. I was a little mortified ahead of time because it's TOM, and I recently read Newme's hilarious viewpoint when she discussed the possibility of having a 3 week post-op while being on the rag...."Imagine the horror!" she said. Well, I wouldn't have to imagine for long now....The nurse handed me a gown and told me to take EVERYTHING off and wait for the doctor. Oh joy. I felt that soon I'd either be walking the plank or walking a cat walk, just a little hunched. The choice was mine to make. When life gives you lemons....Oh wait. I have oranges.
So in walks the doctor and he tells me to stand up and undo my robe so he can have a look. I do so, (and remember, I'm miffed about the oranges so who knows what type of expression I had on my face). He looks me up and down, tells me the scar looks fine, it's healing nicely. Keep using the scar cream. The bruising is normal. Don't worry...He looks at me frontways, sideways, upways, downways, backways. All ways.
Then I tell him my concerns about the oranges and show him the pictures to remind him of what I originally asked for. He told me to be patient. Swelling, swelling, swelling. It will all go down. Then I pointed out that my Italian half is winning out in this recovery and that my pubic hair is starting to grow back with a vengeance, and it's taking over and spreading all over the place. It's growing like weeds all over the incision line and curving in and out this way and that and it's an infection waiting to happen. I want to shave it all off. He could tell I've tried. So the man is FOCUSED on that area and tells me the incision is not encumbered by hair yet, and if an infection occurs, we'll handle it then. He noticed my novice attempts at "womanscaping." He tells me NOT to shave over any of the scabbing. That would be bad. I'm sure husband is dying over there in his chair, but he has become skilled at keeping his mouth closed and just observing potentially volatile...potentially humorous situations involving his crazy wife. Because one never knows....The suspense must be torture.
Anyway, I was still fuming inwardly...just a bit...about the oranges. I think I was the only one not finding humor in that damn room. Thanks to Mr. Silence, sitting over in his safe chair keeping to himself by the opposite wall of the examination room, I felt it obviously fell on my shoulders to bring up the discord in our home; the husband could thank me later, I supposed. I opened my mouth and told the doctor I'd been very emotional lately and it's difficult to know where to turn when you're so upset. He then turns his head to face THE HUSBAND. "This is normal," he says. "Also, I'll have you know, it's temporary." Finally, the man (husband) breaks his silence and out comes this huge sigh of relief, audible to the entire medical staff: "WHEW!!". I really get the impression there was a silent bond in the room...and said bond did not include me, standing there, naked, feeling sorry for myself--because of the oranges . Looking back, the situation was probably becoming funny as hell. My poor husband really took a beating, and the doctor seemed to know that he needed to hear those words of assurance more than I did. I am so grateful to my man for not divorcing me in the past two days that I let it go and got back to the oranges. I began speaking to the doctor in a more scientific, mathematical way. I sounded smarter (but I still want to look like Penny).
"I wanted two-thirds of what you've left me with."
"You will end up with that. I know what you want."
"But look at the pictures."
"I did. I put them up on the bulletin board in the operating room and used them as a reference the whole operation. You are swollen. Be patient. You're still very new out of this procedure."
"I know you did one of those procedures pictured. Her "before" was BIGGER than what I came to you with, but her "after" is smaller than I am now."
"You are swollen. Be patient. You are smaller than her."
"I am bigger than her."
"You are swollen."
"I have oranges."
"You are swollen."
"They are lemons."
"Be patient. It may be 6 months to a year before your swelling completely goes away."
Then I opened my mouth one more time and I wish I hadn't, but this doctor has fine-tuned his calm demeanor to a "T," and he didn't appear to take anything personally. I generalized, and I hate it when people generalize so why I said these words, I don't know, but then again, you've all probably figured out I'm a little crazy, and I'll admit to that.
"You plastic surgeons (as if I know more that one) see all these women who come in and want GREAT, BIG, HUGE, PORN-STAR BOOBS. But not everyone wants that. So when you get someone like me who wants to be a little more athletic looking that mother nature is allowing, you've got to doubt what they really want, because most people want BIG. I'm afraid you fell into that trap of thinking. (Listen to me psycho-analyzing my doctor!)
"Since my stomach was destined to become so much smaller, my breasts HAVE to become proportionately smaller, too, in order to maintain my proportionate, but more athletic frame now."
"I know what you want. You're going to get it. Be patient."
That sweet man endured my confusion and crazed way of assessing my chest. SOMEHOW the appointment eventually came to an end, probably to both men's delight, and the doctor left the room. It was time to get dressed.
We eventually got home and my new had CG had arrived via FED-EX. My mind at ease, and now with something new to focus on, I rushed upstairs to the master bedroom mirror to try on the new garment. I take off everything. In a flash, as I fumbled with the packaging, something in the mirror caught my eye. Something clearly stood out in my reflection. Wow. White sure does show up against a black background. My tampon string was hanging out front and center the whole time. And had been, I'm sure. About 4 inches, pristine and white as the driven snow, a single birch tree, its trunk stretching tall against the backdrop of a jet-black night sky: my forest of pubic hair. I panic just a little as it hits me. He must have noticed it immediately upon my robe coming off. And to think the entire time I'd felt quite sure he didn't know. He'd NEVER know. After all, that particular female product is meant to be invisible, right? And Oh GOD. He was doing one of those observations up close and personal. We all know the kind. When the doctor sits in those little wheeled medical chairs and scoots about and has you turn this way and that, 100% in the buff...everything your mama gave you at eye level. Oh God. But thank God for tampons! There! Imagine the horror if I was stark with no tampon and mother nature was gushing like the Nile and I hadn't expected to be told to remove every stitch of clothing and ...well...just following directions. I'd end up being his only patient who never returned for any further follow-ups. "But you've already paid."
"That's okay. Keep the change."
And here I was arguing with the man (well, not with him...but to him) about oranges and lemons and pubic hair giving me some phantom future infection while the birch tree was waving in the wind, doing all it could to draw attention to itself.
He told me at the end he needed to see me for the next post-op.
"Three weeks," he said. "Got that? Tell the secretary three weeks."
Anyone want to guess why he didn't make it four?
I can't believe I forgot something. Get this. I...
- 6 Jul 2012
- 18 days post
So at the appointment at some point I walked over to my pile of clothes and took the bra and showed my doctor and complained to him that the smallest I could squeeze into is still a large, which is tight. I postulated this as proof that I still have large breasts. I believe the words his used were "Be patient. You're swollen." I think he might have said that a few times, actually.
Giving up, I fling the bra back over onto the counter-top, which was quite slick. I meant for my bra to join my other clothes on the counter. Instead, it slides its way across ... across the countertop...zipping right past my pile of clothes...right into one of those holes that doctor's counter surfaces often have. It's actually the opening to the garbage. I froze. Except my eyes. I actually felt my eyes grow to about twice their normal size as my mouth opened again and I called out, "Oh, my God. I think I just threw away my bra!"
At this point you know what? My doctor was smiling. This was of little comfort to me as I envisioned cast-off sections of unwanted excised skin sitting in that garbage can. My PS opened the cabinet and took out the garbage can and said, "You're lucky! Look, there were only two things in the garbage." He held it up for me to see. Sitting just under my bra were two rather innocuous items: a twisty-tie and the foil packet that an alcohol prep swab once came in. He scooped out my bra and offered it back to me.
Mortified, I thanked the man and placed my new LARGE, and now rather bacteria-ridden bra with the rest of my clothes.
After we got home and I THOUGHT I'd recovered from the birch tree discovery, I turned to my husband and revisited the "bra-in-the-garbage-can" incident. I said, "You know, it wasn't so bad. Lightened the mood at least. That was the first time the doctor smiled during the whole appointment."
To which my darling husband answered, "No Honey. That's not the first time he smiled. He smiled immediately as soon as your robe came off!" Then he began laughing like crazy.
Getting me back for putting him through emotional hell on the 4th of July. I guess I deserved it.
I'm starting to lose it again...I can feel it...
- 9 Jul 2012
- 21 days post
I felt that my breasts added to my chub factor and after losing 55 pounds, I thought spending some money to turn this station wagon into a sport utility would be a good investment. That's what we're all here for, and that translates to a better state of mind and by extension, better health. That's what I'm talking about. For God's sake, I feel like I've left myself with about $38 in my checking account and I didn't get what I wanted.
This site keeps erasing my "Was it worth it?" response, and I swear, I can't in my heart--at least not right now--check the "not worth it," My doctor is a fine man and I think he took excellent care of me, but either I'm still stupid on this whole swelling thing, which is fine, or he did NOT listen to me, and I gave him picture references and everything, so I know I was perfectly clear in what I wanted. I'll post 3-week pics later tonight if I don't commit myself to the state mental institution before then.
Here are my post-op pics for day 21.
- 9 Jul 2012
- 21 days post
I almost named this review, "Liposuction SUCKS!"...
- 17 Jul 2012
- 29 days post
Yesterday marked 28 days Post-Op for me. I was looking through the photos of my recovery and was floored by the pictures that chronicled the lipo of my flanks. At the start of this journey, I didn't even know what lipo entailed when I went in for a tummy tuck, and I didn't know that lipo is often part of the procedure. I didn't ask enough questions, (didn't think to) and therefore (by default) left it up to the doctor, who performed lipo of my flanks, I think as routine.
I'm glad he did, because nobody wants unsightly bulges and wrinkles and right angles as a transition from the back to the hip. My doctor denied me lipo of my thighs because he said I'd be out too long. I was a little miffed at that, seeing how many people on this site get that taken care of at the same time as everything else. Now that I look closely at the swelling, especially in my lying down shots where the focus is actually my stomach (the pics with the yellow tape), I cringe to see the balloon of a butt I'm literally balanced and floating on--like those balls in Pilates class. I'm glad he didn't do more lipo than this at one time, and I'm glad my body didn't have to recover with two thighs swollen up like balloons as well.
I really don't remember the pain from the lipo those first couple of weeks. Maybe that pain was overshadowed by the more intense tummy tuck pain or maybe I was still taking pain killers, so the visual is definitely worse than anything I felt. I've had to change all of my pictures around to shift the focus of my discussion to my experience with the healing from lipo and to give a visual to go with my story. I hope it's able to be of help to others who await surgery. I think a layman's discussion like this and pictures would have helped me to be better prepared with what to expect.
At this point (29 days out) I am still sore. My camel hump has gone down, but some days it stores its fluid in a renewed effort to puff up again. I just feel bruised along my sides and the small of my back, and it feels good to do a light fingertip massage over the tender surfaces. I'm not taking pain killers, not even Tylenol.
I am delighted, however, to view the pictures from yesterday, at 28 days. The bruising is very diminished, and I can't wait to welcome my cute little butt back into the fold, in good standing with the rest of me.
I went to my general care doctor last Monday, a...
- 30 Jul 2012
- 1 month post
The tummy tuck actually looks really good. The doctor gets an A+, and I may even consider a little bit of extra credit on the job he did. He'll need it to balance out that I am still not believing the breasts are all that swollen, and they still have quite a bit of bulk to them. When I met with him, one of the last things I said was, "I want two separate door-knobs." And what I have are still softballs. Maybe between baseballs and softballs, just to be fair in my description. Oranges, still. Since I did not present him with huge breasts, I'm sure I could be quite a bit smaller than I am and I am actually considering asking him to go back in and try it again. I may have to save up a bunch more money since there are no guarantees in PS. Right now my bank account is wiped out.
So this whole "Oh, it's normal to be depressed after this procedure ... for no apparent reason"- kind of thinking..." I don't know. I know exactly why I am down. Not that it's his fault. But the communication probably should have been better. There was only one pre-op appointment, it would have been good if there were at least one more. They're better than they were, just not where I want them to be. And I at this point don't know that this is still a crazy person's reasoning because I have been consistent since the beginning in my stance that he left me too big, not that I'm big. I just don't have athletic little mounds. They are not cones. They are socks with a baseball inside. So his grade shall match the cup size: B-/C+ (probably C+). That's where the extra credit will come in handy.
I saw my PS two days ago. The tummy incision looks...
- 2 Aug 2012
- 2 months post
The little alien I have growing in my tummy is a little bigger than a golf ball; I don't think it's hard, but I don't want to go pushing on my stomach. My PS is not concerned. I have not presented him with anything that phases him. He mentions at every visit how Im healing faster than anyone else in his practice like it's something I could be proud of, but I still freak out about the slightest thing. He's also not concerned about my camel hump that I've had since the day after my procedure. I told him I want the small of my back ... back. It's just so hard to believe that these issues could hang around our bodies for a year, possibly longer. Nothing is happening fast enough for me.
I did get checked out the other day. It was almost surreal. I was taking a walk during my sons' 2-hour swim practice. While I was crossing a street, a handsome man--who I'm sure was Reggie Theus from the Sacramento Kings 1987 era) was sitting in a classy-looking black sport utility patiently waiting for the green light while I crossed the street in front of him. I looked at him to make sure he saw me in the crosswalk, and eye contact was definitely established. He smiled at me and waved. When you're 46, that counts as getting checked out, right? I waved back; my day looking better and better from that point on.
I guess it's safe now to post a picture of myself in the first bikini I've owned since I was 17. This time my head is not cut off. But I'm a teacher and school is about to start, so the longevity of this photo may be very short-lived. I'm mid-blink, but that doesn't change the body. I am happy with the tummy tuck, but have only slightly alluded to this when in the presence of my P.S. Gotta keep him humble.
Today marks two months since my surgery which I...
- 18 Aug 2012
- 2 months post
Now it appears I'm cleared to start exercising again. I thought the paperwork said 8 weeks, which would have been last Monday, even though today is officially 2 months. So I began blowing up my treadmill again last Monday. Not with a lot of intensity (because I wasn't sure if I was or was not violating doctor's orders), but with long distances. Today I'll go outside and see if I can jog and, in time, build up to a 10K again. Remember, two days before my procedure, I hauled ass and ran a 10K for the American Heart Association in one hour and one minute. Now that I don't have that ring of flub around my middle, I aim to finish next time in 55 minutes.
The only problem to this might be that my appetite has returned in full force. I find I'm denying myself my favorite foods from the minute I get up until I go to bed. I like this skinny body and don't want to ruin all of my surgeon's hard work. I'm back to work now so that may distract me. Also, I don't have as much free time on my hands, which could be a good thing when it comes to the amount of time I've been known to spend on-line. At work, I'll get in trouble if I surf the net, and it would be wise to avoid this site in particular so that my Mormon boss won't walk up behind me and see pictures of my naked body. That would open a whole 'nother can of worms, which is part of the reason why I removed said images. But I can't promise I won't check in anyway. I'm never all that sure of what I'll end up doing by the end of any given day.
I woke up to find my two florescent belly button...
- 1 Sep 2012
- 3 months post
So this means that-- while asleep--I either took off my C.G. (which has zippers up both sides and 9 hook-and-eye fasteners on each side), which is unlikely, because then I also must have put it back on while asleep. The thing was intact and secure upon my waking. Conversely, I could have thrust my hands down my front, up and over the oranges, inside my compression garment, and down to my new navel and excavated said earplugs in question. If this is the case, this can only mean one thing--well, two. Not only am I vastly talented sleeper, but more importantly, my compression garment is too loose. It is a medium.
So I've done it. I am officially a small person. Except for the oranges. But the compression garment does not cover the oranges. I'm not sure it could. Because it is only a medium, after all.
I’ve still been thinking a lot about the term...
- 13 Sep 2012
- 3 months post
A “Chick Flip…” That’s a better name. You don’t have to be a mom, and you don’t even have to be of child-bearing age. You just have to be a chick. Then the T.V. execs could come up with a new reality series similar to “Nip and Tuck” and call it “Flip this Chick.”
I ran a 5K for the first time since before surgery. I donned underwear, the death suit, belly button earplugs, three bras, a shirt, shorts, socks, and running shoes. I put on my binder, too, to make my body like a bar of steel. I’m not quite sure I was ready for this…
I brought my awesome Italian last name out of retirement, and kept my Kapilani moniker, too. Life’s too short not to add a little mystery here and there while you can. I ran like the wind (as best as I could) with my lipo areas protesting at each footfall. I crossed the finish line in 26:50. That’s my fastest time in nine years.
My son, who is 1/4th Japanese, ran up to me and said, “You’ve reached Ninja status, Mom!” I figure he’s got the birthright to decree such an honor upon his mom. I accepted the new title.
During awards, I won a raffle. The announcer unfolded the entry ticket, sucked in her breath and called out, “Oh my God! What a cool name!” and I knew it was me. “KAPILANI S!” I paused a moment, just testing to see if there were any other Kapilani S's around. Apparently not. I went up and claimed my prize which just happens to be the coolest water bottle ever. It’s “BPA Free,” and it comes in a little jacket with a zipper pouch for your ipod. And the bottom unscrews so you can turn that bottle upside-down and shotgun that Gatorade into your mouth. Let it pour down your throat without so much as a swallow. I can’t really do this, but my son assures me it can be done. He offered to demonstrate. The boy clearly wanted the bottle, so I gave it up, as any good Ninja Mom would.
Let me reiterate. My doctor did a great job on my...
- 28 Oct 2012
- 4 months post
I went to Victoria’s Secret and got sized. I am a 34 C. Someone pointed out to me not to get depressed, that V.S. tries to “flatter” women who want to be voluptuous, not athletic. Kind of the opposite of vanity sizing. Not quite the same as reverse psychology, but I’d guess it works for some.
I thought maybe I’d get a more accurate sizing from the Hanes/Bali store at the Folsom Outlets. Less “hoity-toity” factor. More honesty. Less indulgence on the part of the staff in self-deception on the part of the customer. That’s what would work for me. MY head’s not up in the clouds.
I got burned. The woman who measured me proudly informed me that I’m a ... “34 C.”
Still? What the hell? I came to him between a C and a D. Could it be true I’m not even one cup size smaller? Holy Mother of God! How am I to accomplish becoming an athletic person for the rest of my life with these two pomegranates on my chest? And the money I spent…this transformation is not cheap.
The woman interrupted my troubled mind. “What bra size are you wearing?” I skirted the question. “I was hoping you’d say I was a B. I just had a breast reduction…maybe I just got a lift…he really didn’t take out very much…” She told me that if my bras aren’t fitting “just right,” I might be wearing the wrong size. She then pointed out that I’m actually bordering on a D. That cruel joke of nature had me running from of the store, covering my ears, and I think spouting expletives (I couldn’t really hear) that I usually try to refrain from. I didn’t buy anything.
Don’t get me wrong. He left them pretty. But also pretty big.
At my last appointment, I shared with him the tales of my ventures to the bra stores of the greater Sacramento area, my hopes of having cute, athletic cones dashed. He agreed with the idea that Victoria’s Secret caters to those who want to think they have a larger breast size than they possibly do. This doesn’t really address the whole “…you might even be a D …” part of the equation at the lower-end store, but I was grasping at straws. I wanted to hear what his ideas at this point might be. He suggested that I try Nordstrom to get a more accurate sizing.
Okay. Maybe this would be my welcome dose of reality. I could go on becoming the angular-shaped, fit person I am endeavoring to become. I’ve been looking forward to feeling better about this situation for a long time now.
So I find myself in Nordstrom today: me and my melons. I got sized. And burned. Again. Worse than before. If once bitten is twice shy, then I’m catatonic. When the bra fitter left the dressing room, I lost no time in scanning the floor for anything at all that can be used to slit one’s wrists. Or hack down the chest by a couple of letters. I’m a 34 D. No question about it. The topic of a C cup never even came up. Not that I want to be a C. And I sure as hell don’t want to be a D. I’ve never been anything larger than a D, so I have no idea what the hell is happening. What I do know is that now I’m on his terms. At Nordstrom, I’m a D.
It feels about as good as getting that grade on an English paper. I’m having to imagine here….
Once again, my unquiet mind was interrupted by the bra lady. “I’ll be right back. I have a whole bunch of high-support bras in a 34 D, you’ll just love them! Don’t go anywhere. I won’t be long!”
So that decides it. I’m going through this again. He may not want to take me on, although he already said he would. He may think I’m too high-maintenance, too unbalanced. But I have a degree in psychology too, so if anyone’s going to diagnose me, I’ll do it myself, thank you very much, and leave the plastic surgery to the expert, who took 96 grams out of one, and an even less 73 out of the other. And according to RealSelf, I paid more for this chick-flip than anyone else in Sacramento county. No insurance coverage. Maybe if insurance covered it, or part of it, I’d have a different outlook; if you get it for free, you really can’t complain….
The only way insurance will cover any of this for me is if I take this surgery into my own hands. Hack away at one with 73 paperclips; do the same to the other with 96 paperclips (the one-inch size weigh a gram each). That would mess them up. I think corrective surgery would be covered, but I’m not sure of the expertise of the plastic surgeons who come to the California state hospitals. I left all the metal pins, clasps, and clips on the floor of the dressing room, my wrists and other members of my anatomy unscathed.
It's been 10 months since the TT and breast...
- 15 Apr 2013
- 10 months post
I waited until I hit the 6-month mark to mention it again to my doctor. He didn’t seem all that surprised that I brought it up, almost like he expected it. So I expanded once again on my non-streamlined body and lamented on how it’s difficult to become the athlete I never was in swimming and running if I’ve got these two baseballs in a sock hanging from each side of my chest.
What I never understood was this doctor of mine comes from a culture of beautiful people, without exception. They have better-than-perfect B.M.I.s and the ones who live in Hawai'i outlive the rest of us by a good 20 years or more. The women are slim and lithe--like dancers. They have perfect, pert breasts that don’t take up more than their share of room on the planet. I don't think they ever visit plastic surgeons. Why he didn’t turn me in to one of them I don’t know; part of me thought that would be his go-to point of reference, and I liked it that way.
Anyway, not only did he not seem surprised by my concern that I’m still a 34 D, he didn’t seem disappointed, either. He told me he’d redo them. It was like he was happy to offer. Simple as that. All this anxiety I've been dealing with was all for naught! And here I wrote that guilt-inducing, dark update back in October where the actions I was contemplating would get me committed and probably invited never to shop at Nordstrom's or visit their dressing rooms again.
I was so relieved by his generosity I forgot to thank him for the thank you note he sent me for the cereal bowl I gave him at Christmas. He did not understand how to use the bowl, but that’s beside the point. Knowledge of cereal bowl usage is not vital in life. The man has skills that are more than redeeming, and he's magnanimous, too, thus rendering misuse of a cereal bowl easily forgivable. Especially if one is lactose-intolerant, which is something I wish I’d considered before I gave him the bowl. But I’m still going to have him cut me open and then put me back together again. I think everything should be okay.