Implant Removal with Bilateral Tissue Advancement

It's been about a year post surgery now and swim suit weather is coming up.

A bikini is out if the question, which is odd because I wore one even when I had capsule contractured implants--I just wore a bandeau to camouflage the shape and size difference of the two.

So what should I wear? If I want to go swimming, without worrying about people noticing my deformities, I'd have to wear bicycle shorts, and a tank top. Oh wait, no. I couldn't wear a tank top. If I did, I'd be nervous of people looking at the large egg-shaped lump sticking out between my breasts (not to mention the lumps all over the top and outsides of my breasts, that one doctor thought were cancerous tumors.)

Even if my tank top was higher cut, my two, symmetrically-placed scars that sit right below my colar bone (that are raised up because of knot-like scars or nubs of synthetic material that lie ubderneth them) would be visible. I think this is odd, since none of the other fat transfer doctors give their patents these scars--not unless they have given them lifts via the Refine Suture device (which, based on my last call to the makers of this device, Dr. Khouri has neither been trained to use it nor is registered as a user of their product. [Perhaps he has someone in China making copy cat, Refine device replicas, I don't know]). But I DO know that I have scars in the EXACT places that those women, who have received a Refine (pseudo incision-less) breast lift, have above, below, and around their breasts. But I digress.

So if I can't hide my scars and lumps with a high- cut tank top, I'd have to wear a crew-neck shirt. But it doesn't dtop there.

There's still the dichotomy issue I'll have to deal with. Namely, the comfort of being supported and modestly covered by a bra vs the major discomfort of wearing any bra that constricts or even slightly rubs against my nerve-damaged skin. (And who wouldn't have some type of nerve damage--what with their abdominal skin having been ripped off of the underlying fascia, then tugged and sutured [under much tension] to tissue far above it's normal position?)

I guess I'll go without a bra, like I almost always do now, since I won't want to be in pain.

Let me repeat that.... I still cannot wear bras without severe discomfort. STILL. And to those who will argue otherwise, "severe discomfort" is another way of saying "pain".

Also to those of you who scoffed at my claims, accusing me of having a low pain threshold, remember this--I walked around for FOUR months on a broken foot. So believe me when I say that even my underwire-free bras are still painful to wear.

Besides, you can't really water down the glaring fact that after whole year, my body still hurts.

To those that have read the comments, didn't those women, those radical, pro-Khouri advocates, tell me to be patient? Is one year not enough time for the pain to subside? The Lord knows I've tried to ignore it. I mean, I kinda have to--seeing as I have no choice.

Nonetheless, pain isn't visible. I may have be able to hide how my skin recoils when the soft, jersey cotton of my shirt (which now feels like coarse wool) rubs against my body. But it hasn't been easy to hide all of my unnecessary scars that now cover my body.

PS Here's a note to all those cancer patients who will try to one-up me, and make me feel shame that I dare complain of these "trivial" issues despite that I, unlike them, am lucky enough to still have my breasts.

I tell you this. I OBJECT to your rhetorical fallacies--your use of Emotional Appeal* and of Ignoratio Elenchi Fallacy** as an attempt to discount and disparage me.

(*The Appeal to Emotion is a type of argument that attempts to arouse sympathy of its audience in order to gain acceptance of it's conclusion.

**Ignoratio Elenchi is translated to "Ignorance of refutation" also know as a "Red Herring". The point of this argument is to distract the audience from the issue at hand, by the introduction of some irrelevancy.)

In other words, its unfortunate if you lost your breasts to cancer. But this blog is about my story. I didn't have a mastectomy so it's irelevant to compare your story to mine. And if you don't like what I have to say, don't read it. You have your very own forum and nobody is keeping you here.

If you've read my review, you'll remember that I mentioned my husband. Let's call him.... What was the name of Mr. Hyde?--you know, Dr. Jeckyl's cruel, bipolar alter-ego? It actually was Edward..... But when you hear the name "Edward", who comes to mind? Do you think of the handsome, chivalrous Vampire from the Twilight books, who will protect the life and honor of his love, to his death? Well, that is precisely, the OPPOSITE of my husband. So I need another name. Hmm, how about...I know, Herod.
Now where was I? Because this review was suppose to be anonymous, I didn't feel the need to mentioned any extra details, like that we are separated because I filed for divorce. Nonetheless, when I did mentioned "Herod", I wrote things which I considered to be complementary...until now.
Screw with me and you'll screw yourself.
One morning a few weeks ago, when I was half awake, I had a moment of insanity and told my soon-to-be-ex, "Herod", of my issues with pain and restricted movement. As I mentioned long ago, "Herod" is a surgeon.
I caught "Harod" at a time when he was at work; so I knew he would be sober, and thus I was thinking he could act like a adult and give me some professional advice. (After you read this, you'll wonder what in the world I was thinking.) What can I say? I was in pain, and desperate, and still groggy with sleep. But of all things I could have told him, only G-d knows why I also mentioned this site.
Big mistake.
When "Harod" found my review, he texted me, noot "Oh my lord, what happened?" or even a "Hang in there. It'll get better". Nope he wrote something meaner than all my Realself adversaries have ever said. And it went, exactly like this:
"...Do you plan on moving to Hollywood or getting a modeling contract in New York? I'm glad we are almost done. You are unbelievable....
"Narcissism"
No surprise there. I brushed it off and expected that to be the end of it, especially after he apologized for his thoughtlessness. But I was wrong.
I guess HIPPA didn't apply because I wasn't his patient, so "Harod" felt at liberty to send this review to MY FATHER--with all it's lovely pictures included (don't worry, though, despite the fact that "Herod" tries to convince me that my family doesn't like me, my father and I are very close, and he actually cared enough to help me get rid of my ruptured implants--unlike some person.)
Around that same time, "Harod" thought it was a good idea to tell his two girlfriends. And he called ME stupid! Doesn't he know that "if you want to spread information fast, you can do it by telephone, television, or tell a woman"?
Bigger mistake.
Indiscretion breeds contempt.
Now ladies, if you were my husband, would you want all these people to see, that you let your wife go for so many years looking like that?
Anyway, after my soon-to-be ex, who we are calling "Harod" read my review again, he told me that I have "body dysmorphic disorder". I'm sure you have heard of people, men included, who have had dozens, or even hundreds of surgeries, but are never satisfied with their results. Those people have body dysmorphic disorder, not the high percentage of women who get some type of breast surgery. These women KNOW they look fine. They just want to look a little bit MORE fine.
(BTW, If I really had this disorder, wouldn't I be too disgusted with myself to post my deformed breasts on this site? Surely I would not have gone THIS long before having them fixed.)
So, "Harod" tells me, and he tells his girlfriends that I need psychiatric help. He tells me he is genuinely concerned--and worried that I will "never be happy" with myself. Then he turns on a dime and cuts me down because I say I am proud of myself for doing a review that can be helpful to other women, who might be thinking about having this surgery. I mentioned that if Anita Hill could stand strong and not buckle under the weight of negative media scrutiny (she accused Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas of sexual harassment), then I wouldn't either.
I wrote that a few days ago. I think I sent that to him, but it might have been in the text that got erased when my phone died. Anyway, in regards to me being proud of my review, he texted me this today:
"You place too much importance upon yourself. You're not a Hollywood Diva."
HUGE mistake.
I can't say I wasn't warned, though. It was the last day of my honeymoon, over a decade ago, when we were late to the 'Booze Cruise'. When we got there we were all smiles and giggles as we tried to squeeze in a quick, pre-voyage picture. But people on board were getting antsy, as they wanted to "get the show on the road".
As we walked toward the ship, I realized I forgot the tickets. That was the first time my husband called me "stupid idiot". (Reality check. I was smart enough to get us on board by asking if we could leave some stuff as collateral until we could give them the tickets.)
When we were boarding the ship and trying to find seats, "Harod" spewed just about EVERY nasty insult I could expect to hear throughout the next years of our marriage. I was horrified and utterly shocked--and so was EVERYONE else on board who was within hearing distance. Remember--we were late--SO late, that we almost didn't make it, and all those passengers aboard who were waiting for us, were looking RIGHT at us. Can you imagine how embarrassed I was? But wait, it gets worse.
My husband of eight days kept on yelling at me--in front of the shocked and disgusted passengers. Talk about "NC", as
Freddy Ware, from "The Devil in the Junior League", would say.
Finally, some gentleman, who felt pity for me--a true Edward Cullen, came to the rescue of the damsel in distress. But If you stand up for my honor, however, you'll pay the price--just ask mother--she did, when she tried to intervene on my behalf...but that's another story.
My new husband's fury became directed at the kind gentleman. And as soon as my groom threw his first pathetic, misdirected punch, a horde of men jumped in to break up the fight. A brawl had broken out and my supposedly professional and smart husband was the cause of it!
Before I knew what had happened, I was whisked away by half a dozen women, who pulled me into the bathroom. They spoke all at once, but it was like they had one voice. What they said was this: "As SOON as we arrive back at port, you need to pack up and immediately and get to the airport. You need to fly home today. And go straight to file for a divorce." and then they added a prophetic warning, "THIS is what your marriage will look like if you stay."
I didn't know what to do. That sounded logical, but then my mind raced with thoughts: "This can't be happening. How can I just leave and get a divorce? All my relatives paid to come to our wedding. What if I can't get an annulment and won't be able to marry again? This wasn't suppose to happen. Maybe this is just a bad dream."
When I was a kid, I remember seeing a few movies, which were about the lives of abused woman. I thought those woman had no sense and they were stupid for staying. I KNEW I would NEVER be like them. But then I grew up and that became me. I was doing the same thing, making the same excuses: "This is just a one time thing. He won't do it again. Besides, maybe he's right, and maybe it was MY FAULT."
So back to the most recent past. Last week, Harod's "friend" called his mother and told her about my review. Do you think my soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law will tell her friends? What could be worse than everyone finding out?....How about our 8 year old daughter finding out when her father turned his computer to face her direction and said: "Look at YOUR MOTHER. She put her naked pictures on the internet. See how disgusting she is? Did you know, she has plastic boobs!?!"
Our daughter said that she saw him several other times looking at my naked pictures, and it made her feel dirty.....Are you shocked now? Well, you ain't heard nothin' yet.
That wasn't the first time she witnessed her father debase me. The first was when she was less than a month old. It was just over two weeks after I had given birth to our daughter. Our family of four (at the time) had been on the boat all day and had just returned home. I took my tired newborn upstairs into the solace of the quiet master bedroom, and started to nurse her--when all of a sudden the quiet was shattered by the bellowing voice of my drunk husband. He barged into the room and demanded I pay up. He told me he had "waited long enough".
For the record, during the duration of my pregnancy, my husband seemed to be turned off by my pregnant body and wouldn't go near me--And not to sound pride-filled, but I looked damn good when I was pregnant. I looked ripe and I looked sexy. I was confident and loved my figure. I barely put on any weight; I didn't get any stretch marks. I didn't have any swelling in my ankles or legs. And after the long grueling months of morning sickness, I was filled with energy and hormones. So why was I so undesirable? And why was I desirable so soon after giving birth--what with my tired eyes and my still intact, pelvic stitches that were placed to sew up my birthing tear?
Shouldn't "Harod" have known the reason why OBGyns advise every patient who has had a normal vaginal delivery, to WAIT SIX WEEKS before having intercourse? Those tears need adequate time to heal So should he have known? Yes. Did he care?
I tried to get out of it. I reminded "Harod" that I still had several weeks before I could have (can we say that word here?), but be didn't care. And out came an onslaught about how I was a "cold fish" and how he was going to "get a girlfriend" if I didn't do my duty and how he had a "right" to sleep with his wife.
I was tired and vulnerable. I had a toddler and a fragile newborn infant in my arms, and my family was hundreds of miles away. What could I do? So I submitted. And my husband, who vowed too love me and protect me through good times and bad, pounded away at me like only a sweaty, impotent, drunk man can, oblivious to my quiet tears and sobs of "ow. Ow. Ouch".
But that's not the worst part. Did you forget about the baby? Where was she in all of this? Well, she was nursing on my breast the ENTIRE TIME because her father couldn't wait to screw her mother in more ways than one.
-------------------------------------
Don't feel bad for me. Really. Though "Harod" has the unfortunate sociopathic talent of knowing just the RIGHT words to say to make people squirm and feel horrible about themselves, and even worse--that he relishes in his enjoyment of it, I've actually become a stronger woman because of his relentless torment.
Even though his words hurt, at least I know how he feels about me. I just feel bad for all those who don't, like his two sister-in-laws. He said this about the older of the two, "She's fat and lazy....I don't know HOW my brother could ---k her." (She's actually a wonderful woman and I wish I had become closer to her. But if you know anything about abused woman, you'll know that they retreat from friendships. It just takes too much energy to make up lies about how "happy" their life is.)
Do you want to hear what "Herod" said about the newest member to his family? He said "------ is a gold digger. And the only reason why my (other) brother is marrying her is because she has BIG [RS bleep]."
Today, Harod threatened to divulge my name on my review. That's how I got the idea to do this. If all these people are going to hate me, or gossip about me, or "worry" about me, well then, they should get to know me a little bit better.
Yesterday "Harod" said I was a "vile and vindictive" person for threatening to write this update.
This got me thinking. If "Harod" cared so much for my well-being that he thought it a good idea to share my review with people, who obviously can't keep their mouths shut, then I'll care about him enough to publish this update, which I've just shortened by two big scents. (One of which was about me calling the police after he pulled a loaded gun out of the safe and told me he would show me how to use it so I could go kill myself. And the next one was about me calling the cops on him AGAIN this weekend after getting a disturbing call about my depressed 10yo, who was being punished because she refused to drive with her intoxicated father. I took a long time to write about the events, but who wants to read that much?).
So the next time Harod chooses to ogle pictures of my naked body, which he will never touch again, he might see this, read it, and will finally be able to understand that HE is the one who really needs help.
Do you think that will happen? Or will he say that I am the bad one? Just yesterday he texted me this: "I DONT NEED YOUR NEGATIVE ENERGY, CHI, KARMA, or BAD LUCK."
So ladies, perhaps many of you think I am nuts for not divorcing him on day 9 of my marriage, or for not leaving sooner. But I bet what you're really thinking inside is "what were you THINKING woman? WHY did you tell that monster your secrets?"
Maybe he is right. Maybe I am stupid.....Or maybe, just maybe--he's the stupid one.
Did I mention that if you screw with me, you'll screw yourself?
Tell my secrets and I'll tell yours. And I know so many, many more....

I am so angry. Yesterday I went to Target to try on bathing suits. I knew I wouldn't be able to wear any this year, since I need to keep wearing this super tight compression tape, which I assume is the new experimental tool for keeping my advanced skin in place.

Theoretically, if the advanced skin is FORCED to stay it's new spot, then it will grow new roots and stay put in it's new position--as part of the breast tissue. But, on the other hand, if gravity takes hold, then it will pull the skin back down, and leave the horrible effect of odd-looking, bottomed-out breasts, with that tell-tale, double-bubble deformity which Dr. Khouri's other patients have unfortunately experienced.

From what other realself members have told me, Dr. Khouri has, in the past, solely relied on the internal sutured bra to keep the newly advanced skin in it's new home. But that has proven to be ineffective, since these stitches loosen (OMG the pain this causes is unexplainable) and eventually get absorbed. Without any painful internal bra, there is no longer anything to keep the skin from falling back down. And the reality is, that once the skin falls back down, it never returns to the spot that it once was! So the poor patient is left looking WORSE than before she had the surgery. Doesn't this sound like some crazy black market procedure?

So I guess I'm the newest guinea pig--I'm the only patient that I could find on realself, who posted concrete EVIDENCE of having had RAFT (aka, Bi-lateral tissue advancement) surgery WITH the additional use of tight, compression tape. Will I finally be the lab rat who has received the winning technique? Do I look like I'm a winner?

Back to my story--after I went into Target's dressing room, I painfully took off my bra. I could tell my Percocet was wearing off. That's right, six weeks post op and I'm STILL on narcotics and NSAIDS. It's surprising I haven't turned into an addict yet--but here and there, I'll stop taking the Percocets to make sure I'm not developing the signs of narcotic withdrawal. And my supply is running low anyway.

I wish I had been told I would experience so much excruciating pain. I wish I had been told that I would have the skin above my naval ripped off my underlying fascia and sewn up into breasts like an il-fitting alteration. I wish I had been told that I would have too much pain to pick up or even HUG my children and that I would have to ask my little kids to reach for things because the action caused unbearable agony. I wish I had been told a lot of things, but, sadly, I had not.

Anyway, I carefully put on the bathing suit top to avoid having to raise my arms, since when I do that, shooting stabs of paralyzingly acute pain, run from the nerves in my arm pits all the way down into my elbows. Actually as I type this, I'm having that EXACT sensation in my right arm pit and it's traveling along my nerve endings. I tell ya, I can totally empathize with those who have Fibromyalgia--and I worry that I, too, have developed this. Who knows--maybe in another year the pain will subside. But WAIT. I just wanted my implants removed with fat grafting! I didn't want this weird experimental surgery. And I certainly did NOT want the horrible evidence of this surgery to be visible for the whole world to see!

That's right. When I put on the first bathing suit top, I saw them--Long, red, ugly scars, which Dr. Khouri ASSURED me would be hidden. But they weren't covered AT ALL by the bathing suit.

Dr. Khouri said he didn't want to remove my implants via my old inframammary fold scar, because fat would leak out of there. But what fat? Fat that he injected? If I was already going to expect at least one more surgery after this initial procedure, then why couldn't he have waited to inject fat around that area until a later date?

Dr. Khouri said he didn't want to make any incisions on my breast -- but that's laughable, since I already HAD scars there! What kind of a doctor would think it's ok to add TWO MORE scars--but not where they'd be hidden--rather, in PLAIN SIGHT?

I would expect a $20,000 surgery to give better results! Am I crazy for expecting this? How many of us lab rats have to be disfigured before the doctor gets it right? Huh? I'm demanding to know......You know, my husband is a surgeon. And when he was in residency, he and his colleagues practiced new techniques on a pig. A PIG, NOT a human!...

Look at me! Does this look like something you would want to have done to you?