So, eight weeks after my lower body lift, life is pretty much back to normal. I only wear my binder to sleep in, and only because it’s kind of a security blanket at this point - I don’t really need it, but I sleep better wearing it.

Like I said, security blanket.

I’m back to lifting whatever I need to, moving whichever way I want, with no problems really. There are still numb spots - mostly around my belly button and on the sides of my hips - which kind of annoy me, especially when I pull up my underwear and pants, and my hands brush across the numb spots on my hips and it feels really weird. Hopefully the numbness will go away or if it doesn’t, hopefully I’ll get used to it.

In my other journal, I posted these two pictures of my abdomen toward the end of June:

These days the area around my incision is a lot less red, and except for a small part on my right side, the scabs are all gone. Until last week there was a small spot that still drained a bit, but that healed over and descabbed all of a sudden, so no more draining, yay!

I’m at my smallest when I wake up in the morning, and swell up a bit during the day. By the end of the day, my abdomen is tight - especially around my belly button; is there a theme here? - and it feels like I’m already wearing my binder, though I don’t put that on ’til bedtime.

Out of curiosity, one day last week I measured my hips and waist in the morning and again at night. In the morning, my waist was 34 inches and my hips were 39. In the evening, my waist was 36 and my hips were still 39. So I’m gaining about 2 inches in swelling during the day and losing it overnight.

I can stand that; I know it takes a long time for your body to fully recover from surgery and figure out what fluid goes where.

Almost every day, I wear size medium (8/10) shorts that I bought from Wal-Mart. I still own (and occasionally wear) my beloved boot-cut pants from Land’s End, but even I have to admit that they’re too big for me - they slide down my butt and only stop because my underwear are there to stop them from sliding any further.

Speaking of underwear, I’ve gone from size 10/11 granny panties to size 6 bikinis (these). And they’re COMFORTABLE. I never would have believed that I’d wear bikini panties and found them comfortable, I’ll tell you that.

Fred, who has never in our almost 12 years together, seen me in anything but granny panties, calls them my “tiny panties”. I think he approves.

With my waist measuring 34″ and my hips at 39″, it’s not easy to find jeans to wear. My size 14s from Wal-Mart are too big, and when I was looking at Land’s End jeans, I found that my waist is considered two sizes larger than my hips. Um. Huh??? So what I need, I guess, are jeans that rest at the hip rather than waist, so I ordered a pair and we’ll see how that goes.

In the comments to my last entry, Shelly said:

I was going to say that in my opinion, the larges in the pics are still too big, speaking of the tops. I think that wearing clothes that are too big tend to make people look larger than they are. I hope this doesn’t come out the wrong way, but are you going to be comfortable wearing clothes that actually fit now? Could you wear form fitting (not tight and slutty, just well fitting) clothes without feeling self-conscious? Is there a part of you that still feels you are size XX even though you are now an 8/10 (so it’s Walmart brand, it still counts!!!!!)?

That’s a good question - I don’t know, at the age of 40, with a lifetime of hiding my body behind oversized clothes, whether wearing clothes that fit is something that’s going to come easy to me. I know that seeing Fred, who has no gut, walk across a parking lot and tug at the hem of his shirt to hide his nonexistent stomach drives me NUTS. I tend to try to “fluff out” my shirts sometimes because having shirts that TOUCH me is very uncomfortable.

It’s hard to go shopping for clothes and know what the right size is, and a part of me still wants to buy the 2x, 3x, 4x stuff - and I’ve been known to get excited when I see that something’s available in 4x, even though I KNOW I don’t wear that size and I’d look ridiculous in a 4x shirt.

I’m still wearing t-shirts that are too big for me at home - though hand to god, y’all, when the weather starts turning cold, I will go through my t-shirts and I will get rid of ALL of them except my three favorites, which I promise to never wear in public. Maybe my four favorites. Can I keep five, pleeeeease?

Just kidding. Three. I am allowed to keep three shirts that I love. I promise, no more than that!

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago Fred took my pictures for my “after” surgery pictures. You can see those pictures here.

What’s next for me? Well, I intend to have a breast lift, chin lift, and possibly upper arm lift. I’m hoping that’ll happen in January so I can heal enough to be ready for gardening season!

Before that, it’s time to get back to exercising. I’m going to give myself a couple more weeks to heal, and then I’ll go to a regular exercising schedule, which will include lifting weights. I’m kind of looking forward to it!

Someone said in my comments yesterday:

I just don’t see why you want a breast lift. The girls look pretty good and look like they’re in the right place.

They look like they’re in the right place because I’m wearing a bra in any picture I ever post wherein you can see my boobs. I would rather burn my house to the ground than post a picture of myself braless, believe you me.

“Fred,” I said to my husband Wednesday evening. “Keep in mind there is NO WRONG ANSWER to this question. I want your honest opinion.”

He groaned and flailed around and made whiny noises, and when he was done, he said “Whaaaaaaat?”

I lifted up the hem of my oversized t-shirt. “Do you think these shorts are too small for me?”

He looked at me. “No.”

“Would you say they fit me?”

He looked at me. “Yes.”

“Would you be embarrassed to be seen in public with me wearing these shorts, if I wore a shirt with them that fit?”

“I would not.” He thought about it for a minute. “Do you HAVE a shirt that fits?”

“Of course NOT.”

Wednesday afternoon, I had to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things, and I decided while I was there that I’d look at the shorts and maybe buy a few pair. I already had shorts at home, but they’re so big through the legs that they tend to bunch up at the crotch and get uncomfortable, and I don’t like the way they look.

I ended up buying several pair of shorts. I thought they were all a size large (12/14), but when I got home I found that one pair was a size medium (8/10). I tried them on, and to my surprise they seemed to fit. Fred confirmed that belief.

Later that evening, as I was getting ready for bed, I decided to look in my closet to see if I actually did have any shirts that weren’t two (or more) sizes too big for me. I discovered that I didn’t have any summer shirts, but I did have some heavier shirts I’d bought. They didn’t fit when I bought them (I bought them all in the last year or so), but I kept them because I knew I’d be having a tummy tuck at some point.

I took off my binder, and tried them on. And then, this morning, I tried them on again so Fred could take pictures of me.

I have no idea where this shirt came from (it looks like it’s two shirts, but it’s really one), but I was surprised to find that those things that look like button holes aren’t actually button holes. So the top doesn’t button. Weird. It’s a size large.

You will note that I don’t have the flat butt generally associated with a lower body lift. It’s not the bubble it used to be, but baby, I’ve still got back, I cannot lie. You other brothers can’t deny.

I got this hooded sweater at Kohl’s for $7.60. It’s comfy, and I think it’s cute (but Fred said he’d be embarrassed to be seen in public with me wearing the sweater with the shorts. Hmph.) It’s a size large.

Another shot of the sweater.

Size extra-large, from Sarah Jessica Parker’s Bitten line. I originally refused to wear it because it was too tight around my stomach. Now I refuse to wear it because it tends to gap at my bustline.

Notes: I am three weeks out from surgery, and probably still kind of swollen. If I stay this size, though, I’m okay with that. I’m not itty-bitty-skinny, but (as will be shown in another three weeks when I post before and after pictures in tight clothes) I’m definitely smaller and that hanging apron of skin is GONE.

Don’t get too excited about the fact that I’m fitting into size 8/10 shorts. They’re 8/10s from Wal-Mart, not like COUTURE 8/10s. But still. Look at me! I’m wearing 8/10s! I’ve always been smaller on the bottom than on the top (despite the fact that I’ve been told MANY TIMES since a very young age that I have a huge ass), and have pretty broad shoulders and a large bust. I very well may be wearing size L or XL on the top from here on out. Know what? I’m okay with that.

It annoys me that it’s impossible to find summer shirts with sleeves that come down to my elbow. I refuse to expose my arm flab to the world, at least until after my next round of plastic surgery, which will hopefully take care of that!

Also, if you look at the second-to-last picture, you’ll see clearly why I want so much to have a chin lift. That wattle drives me NUTS.

And there you go. Three weeks out, I’m doing well, still wearing the binder, sleeping on my side most of the night. I had a day and a half of pain earlier this week (I overdid it at the grocery store and PAID for it), but I’m doing okay now.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go return these size Large shorts to Wal-Mart and get some size Mediums instead!

So, I had my second post-op appointment with the surgeon yesterday. I was scheduled at 3:30, and we got there right on time. We only had to wait a few minutes, and then we were back in the exam room. The nurse helped me undo my binder (and then pointed out that it was on UPSIDE DOWN, how embarrassing. I blamed Fred, of course.) and took the dressing off my incision line and proclaimed that everything looked good. The surgeon came in, looked me over, gave the nurse the okay to remove the drain, and told me to come back in three weeks.

The nurse removed the stitches from my bellybutton (and I was glad that it was numb, because she apparently did a lot of digging), removed a couple of steri-strips from the back part of my incision, and then prepared to remove the drain. When Fred had his drain removed at two weeks, it apparently hurt. A lot. A LOT. Which he told me repeatedly, both at the time, in the years since, and most often after I had my own surgery.

So when the nurse clipped the stitches holding the drain in place and I knew she was going to be removing the drain, I immediately exuded about a gallon of fear sweat. I told the nurse that I was scared BECAUSE OF FRED AND HIS BIG MOUTH and she gave him a dirty look (he told me later it was a dead ringer for the Mister Boogers “het” look) and then she told me to take a deep breath and she pulled. I could feel the part inside as she pulled it out, but just faintly, and it didn’t hurt at all, and then we discussed how Fred was a big baby and men experience pain (LIKE BIG BABIES) differently than women do.

She told me I had to wear the binder for another three weeks, then I can move on to a panty/ girdle thing. I should wear the girdle as tight as I possibly could, and wear it all the time. Once there’s no more drainage, I can wear a t-shirt or tank top under the binder to prevent irritation. I think I’m going to hit Target or Wal-Mart in the next few days and see if they still carry those very thin tank tops in the women’s lingerie section. As hot as it’s been, I’d like to wear as little as possible.

I got the okay to drive, too, by the way, and will be heading out here in a little while to check the PO Box and to stop and pick up a few (light) groceries.

When we got home, I immediately stripped down and went upstairs to take a shower, shave my legs, and shave my armpits. HEAVEN. I stayed in the shower for a long, long time, then dried off. Fred put some light gauze over my incision line (there’s still a bit of drainage in spots) and then cinched me into my binder.

The binder, by the way, looks like this.

So, Fred took a picture of me when we got home. Keep in mind that I’m still holding on to about 10 pounds of fluid, so I’m swollen. Also, I’m wearing my binder, which is not a thin garment. He took the picture and when I looked at it, I said “I feel a lot smaller than I look in that picture!” Ah, well. Story of my life!

By the way, since I had this surgery, I am utterly amazed at how often my bowel functioning is asked after. It seems like every time I turn around, someone’s asking. I’m surprised the mail lady hasn’t demanded a color-and-consistency report. For the record, they’re working just fine and didn’t give me one moment of trouble. I know that hydrocodone constipates some people, but apparently it’s not an issue with me, thank god.

(I am cross-posting this at my other site; if you read there, you might as well skip this, it’s the exact same entry!)

So, on Thursday May 22nd, despite the fact that we were going to leave the house at 5:45 to be at the hospital by 6:30 which meant I could sleep until 5:15 and still have plenty of time to putter around the house before we left, I was wide awake before 5:00. Fred was, too, so he came and lay down next to me and we talked until 5:00 had come and gone.

I spent some time with Kara and her babies, scooped the litter boxes, and then showered and got dressed. At exactly 5:45, we left for the hospital.

On the way to the hospital - in addition to the 145,000 times he’d said it in the week beforehand - Fred said “We could just cancel the surgery, you know!” and I said, as I had every single time before, “No we can’t, we’ve already paid the surgeon!” and he said “We could dispute the charge with the credit card company!” and I said “And then I would still have this big apron of skin and fat around my middle” and he said “I’d still love you!” and I snorted and said “SO?”

We got to the hospital exactly at 6:30, for we are punctual people, and then I checked in (which was just a matter of going into the registration area and getting my bracelet with my name and surgeon’s name on it, since I’d apparently pre-registered the week before when I had my bloodwork done) and then we sat in the waiting room and cooled our heels for, I don’t know since it’s all kind of fuzzy now, an hour and a half?

Finally, my pager went off (when you check in, they give you a pager and when it goes off, you go back to the desk and someone is there waiting to take you back to where you need to be) and they took me back, told me to get undressed, started the IV, and then paged Fred back to keep me company. I think that from the time they took me back to pre-op to the time they took me off to be operated on it was about an hour and a half, but it went quickly.

Unlike the time I went in for weight loss surgery, I was having no butterflies at all. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t looking forward to the surgery, but like I’ve said before, the only way to the other side is through it, so I was ready and willing to get this show on the road.

While we waited, Fred hemmed and hawed and wondered just what the hell he’d do while he was in the waiting room, and finally I just told him he should make sure they had his cell phone number and go home. The surgery was expected to take 5 or 6 hours, and there was no earthly reason why he should hang around the waiting room when he could be home amongst his chickens and pigs. And it’s not like I was going to be awake to care where he was - or as if, he could DO anything if the surgeon ran into trouble.

(”My god, she’s crashing! Get her husband in here to do compressions or something! I’m sure he’s seen ER once or twice! Have him do a tracheotomy next door while he’s at it!”)

(Fred told me that part of the reason he wasn’t too worried about the surgery is because none of my major organs were going to be involved, just skin and tissue, which makes sense.)

The surgeon came in at one point to draw on me, and it was fairly uncomfortable to be standing there naked in front of a kneeling man who was drawing on me with purple marker, and he was pretty vigorous with the pinching and squeezing of the fat, but it was over quickly enough. What was funny to me was that they kicked Fred out of the room while the surgeon did his thing so Fred couldn’t sit there and laugh at me the way I laughed at him when he had his tummy tuck. Poor Fred, stymied out of a chance to laugh at me!

I was rolled back to the operating room and various people introduced themselves to me, and a couple of the nurses reassured me by telling me that they’d be with me during the entire operation. Which I found very sweet, but I wanted to say “I don’t care if y’all switch out every five minutes and bring strange nurses off the street, let’s get going!” Of course, soon enough things went fuzzy and I went under.

I think I was under for about six hours, which I’m pretty sure is the longest operation I’ve ever had - and I’ve had (counting…. knee, c-section, endometriosis removal from c-section scar line, cold cone biopsy, tubes in ears, weight loss surgery, gallbladder surgery) seven surgeries in my life. I’m pretty sure I remember dreaming during the surgery, but I don’t remember what I was dreaming about. I think it involved Disneyland.

I was in Recovery for about an hour, and I’d doze off, then wake up and look around. The nurse offered pain medication once or twice, but since I was feeling no pain, I turned him down. At one point I could hear the nurse across the room on the phone with Fred (I found out later that they’d called and told him to be back at the hospital at 2, then didn’t finish up surgery and come out to talk to him ’til about 3:45). The time in Recovery went pretty quickly, and then they rolled me to my room.

Fred came into the room and then they kicked him out so they could empty my drains and catheter bag (I loathe the catheter. And it’s not that it hurts or is in the way (especially when I’m just laying there), but the very idea of that catheter causes me emotional pain) and then the nurse was offering me something to drink, and the only thing I could think of that I wanted was water.

By that time it was about 5:30, and Fred stayed and gave me water and told me what the surgical nurse had told him in the waiting room (that she thought I’d be very pleased with the results, that she thought I’d probably go down about two sizes, and - this is what I liked hearing the most, and that I made Fred repeat at least three more times - I had a LOT of muscle mass.). I thought that they’d be getting me up to walk around fairly soon, then Fred talked to the nurse, who told him that they were going to bring me dinner and then get me up and moving, so I told him to go ahead and go home (being out that close to dark makes him nervous because there are chickens to be put up!), and then I dozed off.

They never did bring me anything to eat (which was okay with me because I wasn’t hungry at all), and then I asked for something for the pain around 8 or 8:30. They gave me Demerol and then I was hiiiiiiigh. I know I made a phone call or two, but I don’t think they lasted long because did I mention I was hiiiiiiiigh?

I spent the night dozing, and at one point that damn automatic machine that was hooked up to take my blood pressure every so often started beeping, and when I say beeping, I mean not the normal beeps of a machine working the way it’s supposed to, but rather like an alarm going off. It was seriously pissing me off, and I called up to the nurse station a couple of times, and when no one came after a while, I started pushing buttons, and I figured out how to turn the alarm off.

THAT’S RIGHT, I DID. DON’T LECTURE ME. I assume if I were on the verge of death, someone would have come running in to save me.

The nurse eventually came in to see what was what, and she decided that the alarm had gone off because my blood pressure was so low (I myself think it went off because the blood pressure cuff was in a weird position) and she went off to call the doctor. Before she left, I asked her if she could hand me my cup of water and she was all “Nope, you’ve gotta get it yourself. You’re scheduled to be released at 6:55, you need to get moving!” and I was all “I’m scheduled to be released at 6:55? Yay!” Because we’d figured I’d have to sit around and wait half the morning, the way we did when I had weight loss surgery.

By 5:30, I didn’t want anything but to go the hell home, and I would doze off for five minutes, wake up and look at the clock, then doze off again.

Fred showed up around 6:30, and then eventually they removed the catheter and disconnected my IV and I began walking. Fred and I made a circuit of the floor, I rested for a few minutes, we made another circuit, and so on. I felt like I was moving around just fine, thank you.

The surgeon stopped by and I had to get back in bed so he could undo my binder and look at my incision (they kicked Fred out for this, for some reason). This was the first chance I got to see my stomach, and I was all “That gross bloated thing is supposed to make me HAPPY?” The surgeon gave me some instructions (I don’t remember what they were), and said I could go home.

At some point another nurse came in to change my dressing, and Fred got to stay for that and he was all “Wow, you look amazing!” and “You’re so flat!” and “You’re all curvy!” and I was all “OKAY, I GET THE IDEA, ARE YOU SAYING I WAS FAT BEFORE, YOU BASTARD?”

(No, not really.)

The dressings were changed and I was sitting on the edge of the bed and I started getting nauseous. This was the first time I’d felt nauseous at all, thank god, because the anesthesiologist gave me a pill before the surgery, put a patch behind my ear, and put something in the IV during surgery. But now I was feeling seriously nauseous, and when they told the surgeon, he couldn’t prescribe something for them to give me at the hospital, because I’d already been checked out on the computer. So they gave Fred all my prescriptions, including a suppository for the nausea, and he went to a nearby pharmacy to have them filled.

While I waited, the nurse gave me saltines and a Mountain Dew (while I was waiting for her to come back with the crackers and soda, I actually gagged and tried to throw up three or four times, but given that I have a tiny pouch of a stomach and hadn’t eaten anything in, oh, 36 hours or so, there was nothing to throw up), and I ate the crackers and sipped at the soda, and it helped a bit. Fred got back with my prescriptions, so I took the suppository and went into the bathroom and let me tell you, I’m not giving you any details, but when it’s difficult to move around the right way, that’s not an easy thing to do. But I’m a superstar and I got the job done (and no, I was NEVER going to ask for help with that, thank you, I have my boundaries), and then with Fred’s help I got dressed.

Finally, I was out of there. We made a few stops on the way home (since I was going to be on a prophylactic dose of antibiotics, I figured it’d be a good idea to eat a container or two of yogurt every day to help stave off a yeast infection), and then we were home, and I don’t remember what I did - probably kicked off my shoes, took off my pants, and went straight to the recliner.

It’s kind of all a blur right now. I know I spent the day in the recliner, watching TV and probably snoozing. Fred and I watched TV that evening, and at bedtime we went upstairs and he put a folding chair in the kitten room so I could go in there and see them. They did NOT whine and sob and cry about how much they’d missed me, the brats. What they did do is try to climb up my legs, and given that I was wearing a shirt and was bared-legged, you can imagine how much that hurt.

Fred went to bed, and I went to recliner, and I spent the night dozing and waking up to flip through the channels, then dozing off again, over and over again.

Y’all don’t need a day-by-day description of the recovery process, I don’t think, so suffice it to say that I hit some milestones: By Sunday I was (slowly, carefully) getting down on the floor with the kittens because sitting in the chair and trying to grab them as they raced by was proving to be too hard. It’s much easier to grab them when you’re on floor level, and also, it’s much easier for them to sit in your lap and use their sharp little claws to rip at the fabric of your pants, little brats (I’ve started wearing the same pants and t-shirt every time I go into the room, because otherwise all my clothes would be covered in little holes). In the early hours of Sunday morning I was so uncomfortable with sleeping in the recliner that I tried to sleep on the couch (on my back with pillows under my knees), and I was okay to lay there for a little while (unsleeping), but when I went to get up, it felt like I tore something on my side and so I frantically went upstairs to wake Fred up so we could take my binder off and he could look me over. Turned out, I was fine, nothing torn and bleeding.

Monday was probably the worst day for me, emotionally and physically, and I teared up several times during the day. I just couldn’t get comfortable physically, and I felt like I was going to feel like a great big bloated tick for the rest of my life. By Tuesday, though, I was feeling better and have felt pretty much better every day. It helped that, Thursday night, I was able to spend the entire night in my very own bed (on my back with pillows under my knees) and I’ve been sleeping like a baby ever since.

I’ve been doing dishes and the occasional load of laundry (it’s not terribly physically taxing to put clothes in the washer and transfer them to the dryer and then let Fred fold them and put them away), I made pizza dough in the breadmaker on Friday (Fred makes a fabulous pizza, believe you me) and some of the dinner-making has reverted to me.

The one thing I wish I could do (and cannot, I’m not even going to try so don’t lecture me) is vacuum the house. Because Fred has run the vacuum a couple of times, but not nearly often enough for me.

When I have surgery next year (”My GOD,” you are saying, “MORE plastic surgery? Who does she think she is, Crazy Joyce Wildenstein?”, and you just shut up. I need a breast lift, chin lift, and possibly my upper arms done. Yes, NEED.) the absolute number one thing I’m going to do is hire someone to come clean once a week.

Ten days after surgery, I am still swollen as hell. That’s normal, I’ve read that it’s not until about six weeks out of surgery that the swelling is pretty much gone. Fred talks about how flat I am and how big a difference there is, but I have to say that I’m not seeing it yet - maybe because I’m wearing this binder all the time (which is not actually as annoying as I expected it to be).

To my utter amazement, the surgeon told Fred that he removed about 11 pounds of fat and skin during surgery. The day before surgery, Fred and I made our “official” guesses - I guessed that he’d remove 23 pounds, and Fred guessed 18. I actually guessed low, because I’ve always heard that skin and fat weighs a lot less than you’d guess. The day I got home from the hospital I weighed myself and I was up eight pounds from the day of surgery. It dropped about four pounds a few days after that, but as it currently stands, I’m up 3 - 4 pounds from where I was the day of surgery. That, my friends, is some fluid retention.

I ended up with one drain and one pain pump (which pumped Marcaine into my abdomen for three days after surgery), and I had one drain and the pain pump removed last Wednesday. The remaining drain output has dropped to almost nothing, so I fully expect that it will come out at my next post-op appointment this Wednesday. Once it’s out and I’m cleared to FINALLY shower (I’m sponge-bathing every day with copious amounts of soap and water, but nothing cleans like a shower), I’ll most likely be getting dressed in real clothes every day instead of wearing a nightgown all day long. I look forward to life going back to some semblance of normalcy.

Tomorrow morning, I’m going in for my lower body lift.

After my consultation with the plastic surgeon back at the end of March, they submitted my information to my insurance company for a preapproval. We wanted the insurance company to cover the panniculectomy part of the procedure, and then I would pay the difference to have a lower body lift. After three weeks, the response from the insurance company was a denial, saying that I didn’t meet requirements.

I went back to the plastic surgeon’s office for more pictures, wrote an impassioned letter to submit with the appeal.

Two and a half weeks later (last Monday), the plastic surgeon’s office called to let me know I’d been approved. When she asked when I wanted to have surgery, I said “As soon as possible!”

Turned out, there’d been some cancellations and I was able to get in for tomorrow.

I am excited and nervous and thrilled and scared, and mostly what I want is for this 24 hours to PASS because this time tomorrow, I’ll be getting sliced and diced. I want to be on the other side of this operation!

Just thought I’d let you know what was going on, poor neglected journal o’ mine.

I’m sure there’ll be more in-depth entries in the weeks to come!

Last time I wrote, I was about to see the surgeon who performed my weight loss surgery, and I was nervous that he was going to give me a hard time about the fact that I’d gained weight. Not only did he not give me a hard time, he reminded me that when I was at my lowest weight was when I was dealing with liver issues and suffering from chronic diarrhea. The liver issues resolved, the diarrhea stopped, some weight came back. It wasn’t unexpected.

At my appointment, he told me he wanted me to see the nutritionist for a regular visit, and also because they have a cool new machine that measures body fat without having to submerge you in the tank of water.

If I show up at that appointment and see a Tanita scale sitting there, I am going to be some kind of peeved! Ha. I kid. It’s an InBody machine, like this. I don’t know if it’s that exact model, but it’s similar.

Also, he asked if I was considering plastic surgery and told me they could refer me if I wanted. So I got my nutritionist’s appointment for mid-March and my plastic surgery consultation scheduled for February 29th, and went on my way.

As the appointment date for my consultation with the plastic surgeon drew near, I got more and more nervous and then finally I canceled and rescheduled the appointment. I knew the plastic surgeon was a professional, but the idea of standing naked in front of a strange man who would touch MY FAT PARTS had me a tad freaked out. I suspect most of you can feel my pain.

And then my appointment date with the nutritionist drew near, and I was in a busy time (getting ready to go on a short vacation) so I rescheduled that for next Wednesday.

So yesterday was the date for my rescheduled plastic surgery consultation, and as the day drew near, I don’t mind telling y’all that I was NOT looking forward to it. Fat or less fat, standing naked in front of a stranger is NO FUN.

My appointment was at 8:45 in the morning and I was making Fred go with me (and a good thing, too) so I left the house, picked him up at work, and went to the surgeon’s office. We’d thought that because my appointment was fairly early I’d get right in, but that wasn’t so. I signed in and had to sign some paperwork and give my driver’s license and insurance card for copying - the usual. If you’ve been to a doctor’s office, you know about all that. While I did that, Fred went and took a seat in the waiting room. Once I’d signed everything I needed to sign I turned around to walk into the waiting room, and there was this young, thin, blond woman sitting in the waiting room and if she’d been sitting in her seat the way it was intended to be sat in, she would have been sitting with her back to me.

However, when I turned around, she was twisted around in her seat looking at me, and I smiled at her - I always automatically smile at strangers who are looking at me, a habit I’d like to break now that I’m in my forties and don’t have to give a damn what strangers think of me - and she didn’t smile in turn. In fact, with a slight look of disgust she gave me the head-to-toe once-over, then turned around in her seat and continued texting whoever she’d been texting.

Highly amused - that’s the sort of thing that might have made me self-conscious once, but now I just think it’s funny - I sat down next to Fred, got out the notebook I carry around in my purse and wrote I just got a once-over and a look of disgust from the skinny blonde.

Fred nodded, took my notebook and pen and wrote She’s just here for the boobs.

I wrote We are TOTALLY old-school. If we were ten years younger, we’d be texting this back and forth instead of writing it!

We sat and waited to be called back to the exam room. A patient left, and I eyeballed her, trying to figure out what she’d had done/ wanted to have done, but I’m never any good at that sort of thing unless it’s over-the-top obvious.

Finally, my name was called, and we followed the nurse back to a room with two chairs and a TV. She asked a few questions, then started a movie entitled Body Contouring After Weight Loss (sound familiar? Probably you remember the big brouhaha when it won 16 Oscars a few years ago.) and we settled in to watch it.

It was BORING, but I will tell you that if the internet didn’t exist and I didn’t already know exactly the operations available and how they’re done and what the results and possible complications are, I might have found it riveting. Or at least interesting. A little.

We watched the movie, leafed through a couple of pamphlets, and then the nurse came to take us into the exam room. She asked a bunch of questions about my medical history, filled out some forms, and then told me to get undressed and put a sheet over my lap and a goofy little paper top over the top of me (she said I could leave my bra on, which I thought was a little odd), and then she gave me a pair of panties to put on. The panties, I don’t really know how to describe them. I guess “string bikini” would work. She delicately told me that rather than tuck my apron o’ flab inside the bikini, it should be outside the bikini so the doctor could see what he’d be working with.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my stomach flab wasn’t going to fit inside the confines of that bikini.

“Basically, she said you should let it all hang out!” Fred snickered. While I undressed, he went down the hall to use the bathroom. I’d just gotten the panties on and situated myself on the exam table when there was a knock at the door and the doctor and nurse came in. A moment later, Fred walked back in.

The women who’d told me that the surgeon had a good bedside manner were right. He told me to get up and come to the end of the table where there was a mirror on the wall, and he had me look at myself in the mirror while he - well, the only good word to describe what he did was “manipulate.” He manipulated my fat, showing me exactly what a panniculectomy would do, and then he was all “Any questions? Bye!”

I gave the nurse a confused look, and she said “Weren’t you interested in a lower-body lift?” and I nodded, so she went back out and got him. He apologized and said he’d gotten his wires crossed. He did more fat manipulation (at this point, though I’d kind of been holding up the sheet to kind of cover myself, I let it drop. Because the doctor and nurse have seen it all, I’m sure, and god knows Fred’s seen me naked plenty of times, so I wasn’t sure why I’d bothered to try to keep covered.) and showed me what the rest of the lift would entail.

Just a note here to point out when I say “lower body lift”, what I mean is “belt lipectomy” - ie, a tummy tuck that goes all the way around. Some practices include a thigh lift in the lower body lift, but this doctor doesn’t and I’ve heard of enough people who’ve had issues with their thigh lifts that I don’t think I want to chance it at this point.

He asked if that was all, and I told him I was interested in a breast lift (I should have told the nurse that I was interested in all this stuff beforehand, I’m guessing, but she said “Body lift?” and I said yes, thinking that there’d be a time during the health history or something where we’d get more in-depth and I could mention the breast lift, but that didn’t happen) and since I was wearing my bra, he had me sit on the table and unfasten my bra and take it off. He asked if I was happy with the volume of my breasts, and I jumped right in to let him know that I only wanted a lift, no implants. He got grabby (in a professional way, of course) and discussed how a lift would be done. He even said that he could extend the incision to under my arm and get the flabby bit there, which made me happy.

After that, he asked if there was anything else, and I grabbed my waggly underchin. He said I could get dressed and left the room. The nurse decided to take me down the hall to get pictures of me for their records and to send to the insurance company when they submit my preapproval request. Having naked pictures taken is about as fun as you’d imagine, but she reassured me a couple of times that my face wouldn’t be in any of them except the underchin pictures.

Then I got dressed and sat on the exam table. A few minutes later the doctor came back in and he sat next to me on the exam table and as I held a mirror up he told me that I had very good skin tone and looked youthful for my age (”Why, THANK YOU, doctor!”, I thought but did not say. ‘Cause he was stating it as a matter of fact, not complimenting me.) and rather than a full face lift (which I guess is how they usually take care of the saggy underchin area) he’d do a neck lift that would involve incisions around my ears. I could live with that - I just need to learn to stop tucking my hair behind my ears!

He carefully went over the possible risks for each procedure, and then Fred asked if all procedures could be done at the same time. Turns out that due to the time spent under anesthesia (and, I would guess, the recovery time), he’d want to do the lower body lift by itself, then the breast and chin lifts could be combined.

We had a few more questions, and then he left us in the capable hands of the nurse.

The nurse asked a few questions and went off to get a quote for us. Hopefully the insurance company will cover a panniculectomy and then we’d pay the difference between that and the lower body lift (the lower body lift, as we were told, is three different procedures - the panniculectomy takes care of the hanging apron at the bottom, the tummy tuck takes care of the upper abdomen (between the belly button and ribcage) and then the back part, which I believe is considered a “buttocks lift”). She wasn’t able to get us a quote right away, because she had to get some information from the hospital about anesthesia or operating room costs or something, so she said she’d call yesterday afternoon and give me the information, and mail it as well.

They never did call yesterday afternoon - I don’t know if she didn’t have a chance to get the quote together or just got busy, or what - so if I don’t hear from her by Monday afternoon I’ll call the office.

It takes around 4 - 6 weeks to hear back from the insurance company, so if they submit it right away, it could be mid-May before we hear back, and then depending on his surgical schedule, maybe it’ll be the end of May or sometime in June before I’d be able to have the lower body lift done. Originally I thought I’d wait until Fall to have it done if I couldn’t have it by the end of April, but I REALLY want this done (the hanging skin on my tummy bothers me) and Fred’s okay with that, so maybe I’ll be spending my summer recovering from plastic surgery!

I will, of course, let y’all know what happens!

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Today marks two years since I had weight loss surgery.

First, the progress pictures, here.

And then the weight loss chart, here.

Yes, I’ve gained 14 pounds. I actually, to be completely honest, gained more than that before I came to an interesting conclusion. Physically, I am completely comfortable in my body when I weigh less than 170. And when my weight soared up into the 170s, I did an interesting thing. I stopped eating so much crap.

Lightbulb moment? Maybe.

So this morning I weigh 167. I’m mostly okay with that, though I prefer to be down around 165. But my weight can still bounce around by a couple of pounds from day to day, depending on what I’ve eaten and the time of the month, and like I said - as long as my weight is under 170, I’m perfectly happy.

It bums me out a little that I got so close to 150 and then started gaining weight. But to be honest, I refuse to kill myself to meet a number that I arbitrarily decided upon when I weighed over 300 pounds. If I were physically uncomfortable at this weight, it’d be one thing. But I feel great, I think I look okay, and in fact I bought a ton of clothes in size Large when I was in Maine in December, and a lot of them could have been size Medium.

And on a side note, I can tell you that when I weighed over 300 pounds - hell, even when I weighed over 200 - I would never have believed this. See, most days I wear these pants from Land’s End (in size medium petite). When I weigh anything under 167, they’re completely comfortable to me. When my weight gets to between 167 and 170, they feel tight in the thighs. It still amazes me that I can put on a pair of pants and have a good idea of how much I weigh without having to get on the scale.

I wasn’t looking forward to taking the progress pictures to show what I look like 2 years after surgery. I felt like there’d be a huge difference, because when you come down to it, a gain of 14 pounds at this weight is an almost 10% overall gain. But I’ve looked closely at what I looked like a year ago and what I look like now, and I can see the difference in my stomach and my butt, and my upper back, but I don’t dislike what I see.

I’ll like what I see a lot more when that extra skin is removed from my stomach, but at this point if I went to see a plastic surgeon and s/he said “We can’t ever do a tummy tuck on you because (whatever reason, since this is a made-up scenario)”, I wouldn’t be happy about it, but I could live with it.

I’m going to see my surgeon next Tuesday for my 2-year followup appointment, and I expect to catch some shit for having gained weight but, well, what can I say? I’m happy. I’m healthy. I’m comfortable. And now that it’s two years after I had surgery, I can confess something to y’all: I don’t like my surgeon. He has the bedside manner of a personalityless toad. But he’s the best at what he does, and I don’t guess I need my surgeon to be my best friend; he’s lucky in that his office staff is really great, that’s all I’ll say.

Most days, I watch what I eat. I get plenty of protein and vegetables and some fruit (though I probably don’t get as much fruit as I should). I don’t count calories, and some days I eat too much processed stuff (I cannot help my love for Cheerios - without milk, because milk makes me gassy). I don’t have days like I used to before I had surgery, where I ate nothing but crap all day long. I can’t do that, because it makes me feel horrible - not sick, just lethargic and sleepy.

Sugar doesn’t make me dump the way it used to - I can eat candy bars or cake or cupcakes, though I don’t do that very often. But last week I we had barbecue for dinner, and something - I suspect either the coleslaw or potato salad - made me dump like nobody’s business. I was so nauseous and vomited so hard that blood vessels in my right eye burst and I’m walking around with a zombie eye now (don’t worry - it’ll go away eventually).

I can tell you that I have no desire to eat any of that stuff ever again in my entire life. And as much as it sucked, going through it, I’m glad to have confirmation that my “tool” - the surgery - still works.

I’m glad to report that I have no problems eating vegetables anymore, they don’t go through me like they did a year ago. I eat salads with no troubles at all.

I haven’t been exercising at all lately - for a while I was going to a walking path five minutes away, but then I hurt my knee and stopped until my knee got better, and… haven’t been back. I need to get back to walking or some kind of exercise, not to lose weight, but because it’s the healthy thing to do. It’s just SO HARD to force myself out there when the temperature is in the 20s (yeah, I know that those of you who live in the truly cold parts of the country are feeling just soooooo sorry for me right now), and just as hard to go out to the garage to jump on the elliptical, because the garage ain’t heated. What I’m saying is, my get up and go? Gone. But I’ll get it back; I always do. Once the early morning temperatures rise into the 30s, I shouldn’t have such an issue with the cold.

Anyway. So, that’s where I stand right now. My next big thing will be plastic surgery. After I see my surgeon next week, I’m going to make appointments for consultations with a couple of plastic surgeons. What I absolutely want to have done is a tummy tuck (or lower-body lift) and breast lift. And I would really, really like to have something done about the loose jowly skin under my chin because that bugs me more than anything. I’m hoping that that will happen around the end of April, which will allow me enough time to recover before I need to start working in the vegetable garden!

I’ll absolutely post about the plastic surgery process, and I may post again before that - if you have any specific questions, feel free to ask. I may do an entire entry answering questions!

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