10:45am, November the 8th.
A moderate haze blanketed the hills to the south of San Bernardino, and the temperature was balmy as my mother pulled my car into the lot of the Loma Linda University Community Hospital. My fears were remarkably under control, especially since I had taken two Valium before we left the hotel. I slowly walked towards the hospital entrance, knowing this would be the last time I would be able to stand upright for many days. The entranceway to the one-story building was like a tunnel, with huge iron chandeliers like something out of Dracula's Castle. Past the lobby doors was a small desk at which sat a receptionist. With my tote bag in hand, I told her I was here for surgery. After a few minutes, I had to go back to the admitting office and sign another form, one that was forgotten when I signed a ton of other forms last week at the pre-op. Then I was called into the pre-op area, the seat of some of my darkest fears. It was small, with maybe 8 or 10 beds, and there were a few other patients there. I should have been more scared, but at this point I had battled my terrors so intensely that I felt resigned to my fate. A nurse approached me and told me the standard "drill" "take everything off, put this gown and cap on and I'll be back in a minute". So having done that, I lay down and waited. The same nurse reappeared and asked me a few questions, and then said she would return to start my IV. Uh-Oh, the thing I fear is at hand, I thought. My mother reminded me that they would numb the skin first, just like they promised. Could I trust them?
Suddenly there she was, the nurse with her IV cart and pole, my ancient nemesis right before me. The nurse reassured me again that she would numb it as she felt my hand for a vein. At that instant she selected the prominent vein that just last week the plebotomist had dared take blood from (much to my horror). I felt a tiny sting with the numbing needle, and then just pressure with the IV itself. Whew! Passed the first big hurdle with a sigh of relief. Not more than 10 minutes later Dr. Hardesty peeked around the curtain and introduced himself to my mother and said hello to me. He was the attending surgeon for my operation, as I was having it done through the teaching office. Dr. Mirzai, the resident who was to do the surgery, had yet to show up. Being that I should have been in the OR by now, Dr. Hardesty began marking my skin where the incisions and lipo would be done, and while he was doing that, Dr. Mirzai suddenly appeared, as if he had been in a rush to get there. Dr. Mirzai took over the marking, as he was to be my surgeon, and Hardesty was only there to supervise him. It was most embarrassing to have to stand there, nearly naked, while the doctor marked my flesh like a tailor chalking out cut lines in a piece of cloth. But soon they were done, and to my utmost surprise, Dr. Hardesty asked if he could say a prayer with me before the surgery. Shocked, I of course said yes. With the end of the prayer, both doctors departed, and the nurse returned with a syringe full of Versed, which she put in my IV to further sedate me. Then the anesthesiologist came by, asking if I had any concerns or drug allergies. A resident in anesthesiology then visited me. She was accompanied by a man who stood behind her and just watched. At that point, all my pre-operative concerns taken care of, I said goodbye to my mom as the resident anesthesiologist and her helper came to wheel my bed into the dreaded chamber of horrors, the OR. Ceiling lights whizzed by as I was pushed closer to my dread, and finally I saw a room ahead, decorated in that hideous pale hospital blue. I knew this was the "end of the line". My bed was soon butted against the operating table, and I got myself over onto it immediately. No use prolonging the fear. But oddly enough, although I was a little frightened by being in an OR, I never had the crushing terror of my last operation years ago. In fact, I had precious little time to really notice anything about the room at all. Just the color and that the anesthesiologist was there, and there were a few other people, and Dr. Mirzai. I was quickly covered with a blanket, and immediately the anesthesiologist injected something into my IV line. At that instant Dr. Mirzai walked over to me and took hold of my hand, and reassured me one last time before unconsciousness claimed me. I lay down and the anesthesiologist injected another drug into me, and I glanced at the lights over the table. Then everything went black.
A brief flash of awareness, and I felt myself being lifted from the operating table. I remember seeing the lights and a blur of that horrid blue, and I think I may have cried out before I was out again. Then, after an indeterminate time, I found my self conscious again, albeit for brief period before I would lapse back into sleep. I had some kind of stockings on that would inflate and squeeze my legs at a regular interval. Initially they were aggravating, but I soon got used to them. There were at least two, perhaps three or more people in the recovery room, but I didn't notice any other patients. I experienced everything as though I was another dimension where time stops, starts and changes its linear flow ever so often. It was like a dream with nightmarish overtones, one of which was that at some point I awoke shuddering. My teeth clattered and I shook like I had been bathed in a frigid lake. Voices were clear and sharp in my shadow world, and someone made a note that my body temperature was 96 F. Then I was dimly aware of the anesthesiologist standing at my left side, with a huge syringe with which she injected some drug into my line. Extra blankets were placed over me, and warmed air was blown under them to stop my shivering. After a short (it felt like forever to me) time I finally stopped shaking, and slipped back into sleep for a while. But a voice near my bed awakened me from fitful rest, announcing "She has 6 (whatever name they had for them) drains". I realized that I had been partially uncovered and I glanced down at my waist and there was a pile of plastic bulbs connected to tubing that was filled with blood and other fluid. Oh no, I thought, what a pain that's going to be to have to deal with 6 drains when I get home. I was kind of hoping that I was dreaming, but no such luck. Sleep returned again, until I heard "She's peeing like crazy!" I knew I would be catheterized for this operation, and this just confirmed what I knew would be.
At some point in my distorted memory I was hooked up to a Demerol pump that dosed an extra amount of the pain medication into my line whenever I pushed a button.
Finally Dr. Mirzai woke me up again to tell me that the operation went well and that he would be back to check on me in the morning. The rest of my time in the recovery room was spent fading in and out, but I do recall two nurses having a conversation about vacationing somewhere in South America. I was then wheeled into a room where I was given the call button and my blood pressure was taken. I was able to see a clock and noticed that it was ten p.m., nine hours after I had entered the OR. It seemed like every hour a nurse came in to take my blood pressure, and this was an annoyance. After about 4 am, I think I slept rather solidly, and I don't recall any blood pressure readings or any other disturbances until Dr. Mirzai arrived in my room at around 7:30 a.m. He opened up the binder that had been placed like a girdle around my middle, and examined his work. Up until now I had been mercifully without pain, and even having the binder loosened didn't cause me much discomfort. But the worst thing I felt was that it was hard to breathe, like my skin had been pulled so tight I could barely expand my chest to inhale. This feeling persisted for nearly a week post-op. Dr. Mirzai asked me if I had ever seen my legs that thin in a long time, and I said I hadn't. I did notice that I could see straight down from my bra line to my groin without my view being obstructed by my spare tire. Dr. Mirzai said he would see me at the office in a few days, and said goodbye. He told me that another doctor would come by in a few hours and make sure I was OK to be discharged.
Luckily I was able to eat some of my breakfast when the day nurse brought it for me around 8:30 or so. All of my past five experiences of being put under general anesthesia resulted in hours, if not days, of post-operative nausea and vomiting. For once I was free of that scourge of anesthesia.
Later my mother arrived to get me, and the nurse removed the catheter, something I had dreaded as I expected pain. But again I was spared, and the feared event was painless. Then I had to do something that I knew would be painful getting up and going to the bathroom. I had to have someone grab me by the hands and literally pull me up from the reclining position I was placed in so I could get out of bed. But such movement lit my nerves on fire like my torso was being slowly pulled apart. I moaned and cried out at every motion I had to make. Pain like that hadn't visited me since I was accidentally scalded with boiling water as a child, when I broke a bone in my hand as a teen, and when I crushed my finger in a work accident as an adult. Even an extra shot from the Demerol pump didn't dull the agony. Somehow I made it to the bathroom with the aid of a walker (which I would depend on for at least another week) and back into bed. I had bled onto my back and butt from my hip incisions, and the nurse cleaned off the blood and the doctor who would discharge me replaced my soiled binder with a clean one. All of this of course meant I had to sit up and feel the ripping flesh sensations where I was cut. The incisions on my inner thighs I can only liken to this analogy: imagine if the elastic in your underwear became razor wire.
Nov 9th-13th Finally I was cleared to go home (in this case "home" was a nearby motel), and with much pain I got myself into a wheelchair and the nurse took me out to lobby and to the car. Discomfort was the norm that whole afternoon and night, interspersed with sharp ripping pain whenever I had to move. But with my pain medication, I was able to sleep through a lot of it. The next day meant it was time to go home for real, and I got through the two-hour ride with little pain. The next few days went by in a blur, very slowly but with reduced awareness, as I slept a lot. My bed was initially a miserable place, so I lived in my recliner much of the time. When I wasn't talking to my mom, the TV, newspaper, magazines and the phone kept me occupied. I don't think I have ever watched so much TV in my life, not even as a kid! But reading was hard, as the medication caused me to lose focus. Basically I just wanted to sit and stare, or sleep.
Nov. 13th The pain and discomfort gradually diminished as the days went by. The drains were a constant source of aggravation, from keeping the tubes safe from getting yanked, to dumping the bulbs every morning and night. I just wanted them gone so badly. But Dr. Mirzai was quite firm about leaving them in for what seemed like forever. He said that if he removed them too soon I would have to have the fluid pockets aspirated on a regular basis. That made the drains appear to be a lesser evil, but barely. I had good days and bad days, but a nasty thing happened just after the first post-op doctor visit (Nov.13th). I went to see both Dr. Mirzai and Dr. Hardesty, and all they did was look at my incisions. The drains and stitches would have to stay for a while longer. This visit was one week post-op. On the way home, I noticed that one side of my privates was beginning to swell. The next day it was really bad, swelling up like a balloon. I called Dr. Mirzai and he said that if it really got to bother me, I could come in over the weekend and have the on-call doctor aspirate the fluid. No way! A needle "down there"? What a chilling thought. I figured I would just have to suffer with it until it went down. But then I got to worrying: what if Dr. Mirzai decided to aspirate it when I went to see him the following Monday? That whole weekend I worried about the possibility, and I drew pictures of Dr. Mirzai as a hideous beast chasing me with a giant syringe. But then I reasoned, even he wouldn't do such an awful thing as that. Maybe I was safe after all. Still, a sinking feeling persisted, and I had to come to grips with the notion that the swelling would not subside, and he would be forced to do the unthinkable.
Nov.20th. Monday finally came, and I took my Valium (I had a few left over from what was prescribed for pre-op anxiety) and my pain meds to dull my fears. I knew that the stitches would come out that day, and some of the areas were still sore. I hoped to be rid of some of the drains as well. I tried to push the aspiration possibility out of my mind as I was led to the exam room to await Dr. Mirzai.
I could be rid of two of the drains, the removal of which was painless to my great relief. Then came the stitches. The ones in the belly incision were of the dissolving kind, so I had only the inner thigh incisions to contend with. He started at the top, where each one ran into the belly incision. Much of the area was numb, but further down he hit a few sore spots and I let him know it. I lay there on the exam table, on my back, as Dr. Mirzai worked to remove the stitches. He knew I was nervous and upset, and he did his best to keep me distracted with conversation. But anxiety blended with embarrassment when he got down to the sutures on the insides of my thighs. I had nothing on from the chest down, and there was no way he could cover my privates and still be able to have access. So there I lay, half-naked with my legs spread apart, trying not to focus on being embarrassed. This was made harder due to Dr. Mirzai's handsome looks - was he a TV or movie star, I guarantee that he would be voted "People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive" hands down! Then, when he had gotten all the stitches he could reach from my reclining position, an even more red-faced situation developed. My two thigh incisions go all the way around, following the crease where my butt meets the back of my leg. Dr. Mirzai told me he would have to get the remaining sutures while I stood. But I knew that he wouldn't be able to reach them all if I stood up straight. So I spent the next fifteen minutes or so bending over in front of him, leaning on the exam table as he picked each stitch out of the incisions on my butt. Luckily I could hide my face, as it must have been cherry red at that time! But he kept me reasonably distracted with conversation, and soon that part was over.
Then came the dreadful part. Earlier in the visit, my mother mentioned that I still had the swelling (gee, thanks, Mom!), so Dr. Mirzai said that he would aspirate it. I looked at him and asked if he was going to do "something really scary" to me now. He tried to reassure me, and told me to have a seat as he went to get the stuff to do the aspiration. I wanted to sneak out of the room while he was gone, but he re-appeared seconds later with items that I didn't want to look at, let alone think about.
There I sat, on the edge of the exam table, my gown pulled around me, and my face buried in my hands, whimpering in fear. I could hear plastic crinkling as Dr. Mirzai prepared the syringes. I didn't want to see what he was doing. I wanted relief from the uncomfortable swelling, but I didn't want to receive an injection in such a place. I told Dr. Mirzai that "that's an awful place to get a needle"! I guess I was hoping he would re-consider what he was about to do, but no such luck. My mind searched for ways out of the inevitable, but I could find none.
Seconds later he snapped me out of my impending panic, telling me to relax and motioning for me to lie back. He then asked me if I was right-handed, and I said I was, wondering why he would care. He grabbed the two bags containing the remaining drains and moved them to my right side, telling me to hold onto them. (Later on, my mother said that he wanted me to hold the drains in my right hand so it would be harder for me to interfere with what he was doing) Reluctantly I did so, grasping the drains and lying back, and he told me I "don't' want to see this", and to close my eyes. He must have read my mind no way did I want to watch. With that, he began the dreaded procedure, telling me exactly what he was doing as he felt the swelling and cleansed the area. Then came the numbing injection. Imagine a hornet flying down under your waistband and into your underwear, stinging you in a most unmentionable place! At this point I was so upset it didn't take much to make me cry and moan in pain as he injected the numbing solution. He told me to take deep breaths and count to 30, and by that time the burning would be gone. I could barely breathe, much less count, but I tried, and the pain did subside, but not before I felt an icy sweat break out on my forehead and scalp. Dr. Mirzai reassured me that "it's all numb now" and that he would wait a minute before doing the aspiration to be sure it was fully numb. The aspiration itself was painless, but I could feel the pressure. Fear remained in me that he might hit a spot that hadn't been numbed, but fortunately that didn't happen. He said he wasn't getting much fluid out, which was good because it meant that there was no pocket of fluid that would have to be drained often.
But my relief turned to terror once again when Dr. Mirzai said that he would "have to go lower", meaning that he would have to numb then aspirate a much more sensitive area. Again I covered my face and cried "No-No-Nooooo!" as he prepared another syringe. I glanced up, and there he stood, holding the loaded syringe, waiting for me lie back down so he could continue. I couldn't get out of it that easily. I obliged him and turned away, covering my eyes with my left hand and bracing for the agony. But all I felt was pressure, luckily the original numbing shot had affected that area. But still it was upsetting, knowing what he was doing. At one point he came around to the other side of the table, brandishing the aspiration syringe full of blood and fluid. "You don't want to see this." He said, noticing my reaction to what I was looking at. It was all I could do to lie still as he finished, my right hand maintaining a death-grip on the drain bags and my left fingers digging a hole in the table.
Finally he announced that it was over, and for me to hold a piece of gauze over one of the puncture sites as he left the room for a minute. He returned and told me I could get up, and then I mentioned something about wearing bike shorts to stop my legs from rubbing and irritating the liposuctioned areas. He said he had a better idea, and left the room again, returning with a new binder that would cover my thighs.
I leaned on the table, still shaking from the aspiration. There were drops and smears of blood where I had been sitting, and the paper was soaked in perspiration. Then came more embarrassment when he unfolded the binder and I asked him if he needed me to take the gown off. He said yes, and I reluctantly dropped the gown on the table, leaving me standing there with nothing on but a pair of socks. But I was still shaken, and shame was one of the last things on my mind. Having only a most rudimentary grasp of the workings and structure of women's underclothes (like most men), Dr. Mirzai had to think for a few moments of how to put this binder on me. It looked much like something any Victorian woman might have worn, complete with lace around the legs. I held my drains as he fitted it around my legs, but he caught one of the tubes when he tried to bring the bags through the crotch opening. It didn't hurt, but I could feel the pulling and I let him know it. Finally he finished zipping me into the corset and I was able to put my robe back on.
I was never so glad to go home as I was that day. I had been there for two hours, a real ordeal, like I had been through the ringer. I was still trembling when I left the medical building.
Nov20th-26th Days went by, and to my relief the swelling had begun to diminish, so that meant no more torture sessions with Dr. Mirzai. The drains were a little easier to manage, being that there was only four of them contained in two zip-lock baggies. My original "biohazard" plastic bags that the nurse had fixed me up with at the hospital had fallen apart, so I went around with a couple bags pinned to my binder. I had another appointment with the doctor the Monday after Thanksgiving, and I was hoping that I could lose ALL the drains then. Thanksgiving Day I felt pretty good, and I was able to eat a decent amount of food. But I discovered a stitch that Dr. Mirzai had apparently overlooked, so I had to remember to tell him the next time I had an appointment. For about a week after the operation, if ate so much as a chicken breast at one sitting, I felt like a boa constrictor that just swallowed a pig my belly was so tight I could barely breathe. Dr. Mirzai said it was because of having my abdominal muscles pulled so tight. That wasn't my only eating woe the pain medication caused constipation, despite taking laxatives to counter the effect. So by Thanksgiving I had weaned myself off of the pain meds. The walker was also history, returned to the hospital after my last appointment. By this time, I could just about stand up straight.
Nov.26th Then, on November the 26 I had my third follow-up, the one where I hoped my drains would be removed. In the few days before, three of the drains had basically dried up, but one kept up a steady output. The level was just shy of 30cc, the cut-off point that Dr. Mirzai used to determine if it could be removed. So I was hopeful, but knew there was the chance I may have to suffer another week with that one drain. This was also the first time I had worn real clothes for a doctor visit. I took an old pair of underwear and cut out a slot for the drain tubes, and I wore a pair of sweats that had the waist elastic stretched way out. Well, Dr. Mirzai looked at my "drain log", a note pad that my mom had diligently recorded the output of all my drains morning and night. He decided right away that 3 of the four could come out, and he put his gloves on and unfastened my binder. I asked about the other one, and he said he would leave it. Well, it might have been childish of me, but I was so sick of not being able to shower, and having tubes in me that I moaned and whined like a first-grader being denied a cookie. He stood firm, and I was totally crestfallen. I got nervous at this point, not fearing pain but not wanting to have my tubes "yanked" prematurely. I helped him with the bags, and he isolated the ones he was going to remove. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what he was doing, lest I faint. The first one was painless, but the second one had a scab that formed around where it entered my skin, and it really hurt. Already upset, I cried and moaned as he worked to free the scab from the drain. "It's just the scab, not the drain that you feel." He kept reassuring me, but it was too late, as the creeping miasma of an impending faint came down over me. First I felt hot, then nauseous. I was sitting up at the time, and he had already freed the scabby drain, and was moving onto the last one. Then the hearing in my left ear was gone, and my vision began to grey, and sweat began pouring out of my scalp, running down my face and neck. I told him I was going to faint and that I needed to lie back, so he adjusted the table so I could recline (I couldn't lie flat at this point because the skin on my belly was still too tight). Unfortunately I couldn't put my legs up, as I was on the edge of the table, and if I tried to stand up I would have been on the floor. Actually I wished I was on the floor, I felt so miserable, like I was one step from being knocked out. At that point, Dr. Mirzai had a change of heart, so to speak, and he gave me the option of having the last drain taken out, with the warning that there was still a chance of fluid build-up, and of course a dreaded aspiration. Without a second thought I said I wanted it out, and I would take the risk. That one didn't have a scab, and came out easier, but it stung a little. The faint still had me in its dizzying grip, and I had to lie there for what seemed like several minutes to regain control. Dr. Mirzai waited for me to recover so I could show him the stitch he missed, the one I found on Thanksgiving Day when I went to scratch near my incision. Well, that meant I had to moon him again, as the stitch was near the back end of one of my thigh incisions. At first he couldn't find it, and I had to reach around and point to the loose end that stuck out like a stiff hair. But it was just part of a dissolving suture that wasn't trimmed off, which he cut off so it wouldn't annoy me any more. Well, that was it for that visit, and boy did it feel wonderful to be rid of the drains. I had some oozing for a few hours, but then it stopped. I was too pooped from my ordeal, but the very next day I spent a good long time in the shower, and oh it felt so good. Showering seems to help get rid of some of the stiffness, as well as getting me clean.
Nov26-Dec4th So far I think I'm improving slowly, and my incisions look nice, all except the areas where the thigh incisions meet the belly incision. There the skin is oozing and looks like it has pulled apart somewhat. Luckily these areas are numb, but they still look gross. Dr. Mirzai said that such things would happen, and it was nothing to be unduly concerned about. I have definitely noticed a difference in my clothing, namely nothing below the waist fits! All my pants have the crotch hanging down to my knees! Even my underwear are baggy in the front where they were "blown out" by my big gut. When I get a hold of some extra$$ I'm going clothing shopping. Not only the clothes, but my hips are 2 inches smaller down to 40" from 42", but also my waist has gone the other way, from 331/2 36"! I HOPE it's just the swelling and skin tightness. But on the scale I dropped about 6 pounds.
Jan 3rd, 2002 Now that I am going on two months post-op, most everything is back to normal. I have noticed a reduction in swelling, especially around my navel. I had an area along part of the belly incision that was swelled out of proportion to other areas, but the fact that I'm back to doing my ab crunches seems to have alleviated it. The sores where the incision pulled open a bit have completely closed and flattened out. My thigh incisions are as lumpy as ever, in some places it feels like there are tiny beeds under the skin. It doesn't hurt but feels odd and still looks kind of gross. My thighs aren't as slim as I had hoped, but I have gone back to my toning excercises and hopefully there will more improvement once the lipo swelling is gone. But the belly incision, especially around the hips, looks incredible - still purpleish, but very smooth and flat. It looks like it was cut open then neatly glued together. It is a shame that Dr. Mirzai won't be practicing in my area, otherwise I would not hesitate to go to him when I am ready to have my arms (and possibly my chin) corrected.
Jan 30
Liberation day! I went to see Dr. Mirzai and he "let me out" of my binder for good. He took care of a couple stitches that had poked through my skin on the thigh incisions, one of which was like sitting on a tack! He and Dr. Hardesty were very pleased with how I look now, and Dr. Hardesty was glad that I no longer have a terrible phobia about doctors and hospitals. Dr. Mirzai also took a couple more "after" pictures as well.
I am to return again towards the end of March where the possibility of a "touch-up will be discussed. I have a couple "dog-ears" and a bump on the edges of the incisions. Nothing hideous, but they will still look funny if I wear a bikini.
March 25th
I returned to Dr. Mirzai and discussed having him touch up a couple areas on my incisions. He said the problem was very mild, and that it could be done in the office. So I scheduled an appointment for April the 11th. Other than that, I feel quite good now, only some residual stiffness around my incisions when it rains. Most of the dissolvig stitches are gone, but I can feel a couple of the permanent ones just under the skin near my navel. They don't hurt, but are kind of gross. Dr. Mirzai said it would be best to leave them be, unless they bother me in the future, because they are "holding me together", as he put it.
April 11th
The day for the touch-up finally came, and for once I felt no anxiety or dread about the procedure. I had two areas on the ends of the abdominoplasty incision that had minor bumps, and Dr. Mirzai marked where he was going to do the excision. The procedure was to be done in a small room set up for minor operations, and I must admit I did feel some residual fear when I was led to this room. But I knew that once the numbing medication had taken effect the worst would be over. The nurse put the electrode pad for the cautery on my thigh, and I had to lie on my belly because the original incision wrapped so far around to my back. Of course the hospital gown not only fell open but just about fell off, so I asked the nurse to cover my legs, as it was chilly in the room. But before she had the chance, Dr. Mirzai returned to the room. But as it is often said : "it was nothing he hadn't seen before", still, I didn't fancy the idea of my bare butt being exposed like that.
Then the nurse covered my legs and began to scrub the areas to be worked on, and soon they had me draped. Dr. Mirzai drew up a syring of lidocaine and announced he would be numbing the areas. The left side was still sort of numb from the original surgery, and it didn't hurt that badly, but the right side was tender and that one stung. He began cutting the left side first, and all I felt was pressure. But then came the cautery - imagine the sound of an egg dropped into a searing frying pan - that's what it sounded like as he sealed blood vessels and burned away the fat. In addition to the digusting sound was a stench reminiscent of burning hair but even more acrid. I began wishing that this part would be over soon. But I kept talking to him to keep my mind off what he was doing, and I think this saved me from feeling faint. Finally he finished the cutting and burning, and he began suturing the wound. I was so relieved that I didn't panic. Sometime while he was working on this area Dr. Gupta (one of the attending plastic surgeons that Dr. Mirzai worked under) peeked into the room to see how things were going, introducing himself to me.
Next was the right side - first the cut, then the cauterizing, but this time he hit an area that wasn't totally numb, and I made sure he knew it. So he injected more lidocaine into the area, and worked around it until it was completely numb. Then came the sutures, and afterward he washed away the blood and betadine stains. He put steri-strips on the incisions, and then taped gauze bandages over them. I got up and went to pull the hospital gown back on so I could go into the bathroom and put my clothes on, but there were some good-sized blood stains and spatter on the gown, but even this didn't unnerve me as it would have in the past.
Since he used only dissolving suture, I don't have to see him until April the 24th, when he will take more pictures.
By the time I returned home that night, the lidocaine had begun to wear off and sleeping was fitfull at best, even using some of my left-over pain meds. A day later and the areas still burn and ache, but during the day regular over the counter painkillers do the job pretty well. At least the dog ears are history.
May 22nd - The last visit
And so it finally came - an offcial end to this chapter of my life - the last follow up visit with Dr. Mirzai. There was nothing really eventfull about it, save that it marked one end and another beginning. Dr. Mirzai pulled out a dissolving stitch that I couldn't get (this was from the recent touch-up revision) and they took the last photos. Now all I can do is watch my scars fade, and look forward to the day that I can afford to go to Hawaii and have Dr. Mirzai give me a chin lift and maybe an arm lift.
In retrospect I'm glad I had the operation, despite the pain and "nasty surprises" I described earlier. I feel so much less self-conscious about my figure and it's so wonderful to be able to buy clothes that really fit, and to wear shirts tucked in (I haven't done that for almost 20 years!). I definately feel liberated from what was to me a deformation caused by being overweight. It was expensive, time-consuming and at times very painful and scary, but in the end oh-so worth it. Need I say more?
1 Year after: Now I have just passed the 1 year mark and my recovery is finally complete. My scar is faded out all except the areas where I had the touch up and the only reminder of the surgery is that every now and then I get a sense of veritcal tighness in my ab muscles, escpecially when I do ab crunches. It has been at times a difficult procedure to undergo and recover from but I have no regrets. My self-esteem is so much better and for once I look forward to buying clothes because I feel I look good in them without my unsightly spare tire and thunder thighs. If I had it all to do over again I definately would make the same choice.
