The night before surgery my mother and I gleefully, and in full-fledged denial about what was about to happen, set out on a mission to find exotic food and wine and giggles. We succeeded, having a 1/2 litre-of-this and and 1/2 litre-of-that and filling in the hours between meals with shopping. We clinked glasses to new beginnings and new boobs, and looked forward to the surgery facing me the following day.
Upon arrival at the Surgical Centre where I was having my surgery done, we laughed (albeit nervously) about the fact that it was basically located in a strip mall, nestled cozily between a dentist and a Safeway. For real. Shopping bags in hand, we filled out forms, planned for our cab after recovery, and made the best of the fact that the doctor was running a wee bit late by watching Dr. Phil (always an effective tool for making one’s life feel virtuous and good) and hamming it up so that I could send pictures home to my boys and make them laugh.
Finally, the surgeon arrives, and we confirm all of the things that are going to be (certainly or potentially) done to my body while I’m ‘asleep’. Swap out tissue expanders for implants (yay!) and possible fat-grafting (I even laughed at this – obviously I told him to take it from my least favourite part – and he drew swirly circles around my thighs to guide whatever-tool-gets-used-in-fat-grafting. I kissed my mom, told her I’d catch her on the flip side, that I loved her and I dutifully followed the doctor into the OR, sporting lovely black lace underwear (this was allowed) and…yep…socks affectionately known in these parts as “Nipigon Nylons”. Little did I know I was going to awaken to this lovely sight tightly wrapped around my lower half, lovely black laciness lost somewhere on the operating table.
I would absolutely be a good sport and actually model this monstrosity for you; however, you will note that there are certain elements of the garment that are conveniently missing. Yes, folks. For the convenience of leaving this lovely thing on while you use the washroom, in case you are loath to remove it even for two minutes. The hanger-shot will have to suffice.
There is nothing pretty about post-surgery anything – and I am no exception, I’m afraid. While I know that in a few weeks when my new parts ‘settle’ and the swelling goes down and the bruising subsides and I start to sleep again and my body begins to feel normal again I may actually be pleased with the results of my surgery and I may feel inspired to visit a lingerie store (or leave the couch, for that matter), for the moment, this is what I’m looking at.
My thighs, where they took fat for fat grafting, are quite black and sore, and let’s just say that everywhere else where there was surgery done is pretty much the same.
So, for now, it’s plaid pajamas and a girdle that pretends to be frisky, and a whole lot of patience.
Luck, and healing vibes please!