I woke up this morning feeling a bit queasy; funny, that’s exactly how I went to bed, too. For a split second, while I dug the crusties out of the corners of my eyes, I struggled to remember why I was so nervous and then, as quickly as I scooped the boogers away I recalled why I’m in a tizzy… I have a doctor’s appointment today. Normally, I love going ’cause I get to show off all my excellent progress but I’m not headed to my surgeon’s office, nor my OB/GYN nor my primary care physician… No, no, no! Today, I’m headed for a consultation with a reconstructive surgeon.
I’ve been pretty quiet about this next step in my journey for a few reasons but, I think the number one reason is because I don’t want to be judged. Typically, I couldn’t give a flying fuck what people think of me so I had to sit down and ask myself why this particular topic was giving me such pause. My conclusion: I’ve been judging myself. I’ve already formed negative opinions of myself for considering plastic surgery (ok, let’s just say it: “cosmetic” surgery) to enhance my bodily image.
I can sit here and tell you that I get cysts under my breasts and my hanging abdomen. I can go on and on about the pain that each and every persistent little puss filled bump offers me. I can even go further and tell you that, no matter how much we love each other, there’s never an easy way to ask my boyfriend if he’ll help me hot compress them, apply pressure to them and aid them to drain. I will end with telling you there is no smell like it. However, even with all that being said, when it’s all said and done: I want a breast lift and a tummy tuck because I’m 26 and I want to look good! I want to look in a mirror and see something pleasing to the eye; I don’t desire perfection but I’d like to turn myself on a little, ya know what I mean? I want my man to be proud to walk with me on his arm. I want other men to drool over me and to be jealous of him because he has me and they don’t. I want to wear a fucking bikini! Am I asking too much, here?
I’ve lost over 100 lbs, I’m about 20 lbs shy of where my doctor’s say I will, more than likely, bottom out at and, with the removal of this hanging abdomen of mine, I’d guess I’m probably closer to 10 lbs away from said target weight. I have medical cause to have a cosmetic surgery; I have two doctors willing to write letters of recommendation to the surgeon & the insurance company, explaining that my health would improve with the aid of these procedures. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to seize an expensive procedure most post-bariatric patients would give their right arm to have: AT NO COST! Call me selfish but I DESERVE this!
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I so leery to discuss this with people? Why do I care so much about what other people have to say about it? Whatever my own personal issues are, I need to get over them. I have enough to worry about with making sure I choose the right surgeon for me, making sure I obtain the right information & education about the procedures before I decide it’s for me and making sure I don’t jump the gun on anything that I’ll regret later. So what if I’m excited about the prospect of looking better, of being more pleasing to, not only my own eyes, but also the eyes of others… There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look good. Right?