a new perkier saline-filled redhead – the conclusion

Previously on this blog:

Redhead decides to get a breast lift (aka mastopexy) with small saline implants to maintain previous size.  Redhead gets many referrals from friends and acquaintances in her search for a talented, experienced, highly skilled cosmetic surgeon.  Redhead gathers an intense amount of research on recommended surgeons (including finding a site online which lists any previous or pending lawsuits on file for doctors in the state of Florida).  Redhead is thrilled when she finds  and selects a talented, experienced, highly skilled cosmetic surgeon who completely understands her breast enhancement goals.

Now back to my story…

As I mentioned in my last blog, the most challenging and worrisome part of planning my procedure was juggling my chauffer responsibilities.  I am happy to lend a hand to someone who needs it but don’t feel comfortable asking for help myself.  So, imagine how hesitant I was to make this phone call, “Hi Jane, would you mind bringing my children home from school next week?  I will not be able to drive because I am having my boobs done?”  Well, uncomfortable or not, I had to do it.   I made the calls and everything worked out.

There absolutely should to be a Nobel Prize category for moms.  It will be able to acknowledge the hard work of a mom who is able to arrange rides to and from school for an entire week for three children at different schools.   I saw a segment on the news today about a man receiving worldwide recognition for inventing some type of plasma-powered flying saucer.  Come on?  I am sure that my carpool juggling accomplishment required much more work than something created over many years in a peaceful-child-free lab.  The scientist did not have to construct his creation with a small child running around him in circles relentlessly begging for his third pack of fruit snacks for the day saying, “Mommy, they are healthy, there is fruit in them.”  Um, no, I don’t think you can consider it healthy if high fructose corn syrup is listed as the first ingredient.

In any case, I had everything covered and was ready for the big day (no pun intended).  I went straight from my child’s important school event to my appointment.  Therefore, I was a bit overdressed for a date with a scalpel, some saline and surgical tape.  I must have been the first woman to walk into the surgery center in full make-up and high heels.  The receptionist gave me quite a look, indeed!

Luckily, most of the pre-surgery tasks went quickly.  Before I knew it, my surgeon was drawing on me in the infamous purple pen.  I tried to imagine it was Dr. Christian Troy from Nip/Tuck drawing lines all over me.  ( the few remaining Nip/Tuck fans out there will understand my disappointment that my doctor never asked me “Tell me what you don’t like about yourself.”)

A few minutes later (or hours, who knows, at that point I must admit I was starting to get a bit nervous) the anesthesiologist came in to begin.  I was thrilled because I knew once he did his job, all I would remember was “10, 9, ….”  We made a little small talk and it turned out our kids attend the same school.  That means he is not just my legal drug dealer for the next four hours, he is also a “school dad”.   Okay, so that means this man who will sit at my side for the next four hours administering the best drugs I will ever have in my life, watching as the surgeon re-creates my breasts, may also be sitting next to me in the school gymnasium in a few weeks as the school principal announces the new carpool drop-off and pick-up procedures.  Oh also, this “school dad” will see my new and improved breasts before my husband does.

AND, have I mentioned I tend to talk a little too much when being put under?  No surprise, right?  Imagine, if I share this much information while only under the influence of starbucks coffee and exercise-induced adrenaline, what do you think I say under the influence of strong pharmaceuticals?  I talked a little too much when I had my nose done (oh come on, you had to know I did that.  It is a right of passage for a girl of Sephardic descent.  The only difference for me is that I did it at age 25 as a birthday present to myself instead of the standard age 16 birthday present from parents.)  Back then, there was a really cute young surgeon interning with my doctor on the day of my nose re-model.  I met the intern the day of my surgery right before I was given an IV full of truth serum (that is basically what you get when they knock you out).  When I went for my follow-up a few days after the surgery, the nurse was smiling a little too much as if she knew something I didn’t know.  She finally told me that I kept telling the intern how gorgeous he was over and over until I was completely unconscious from the anesthesia. Did I really need to know that?

So, getting back to the present year and my more recent journey into an unconscious state.  I was a little nervous about what I might have said to this doctor/school dad while I was drugged but still conscious.  I still don’t know what information I may have shared with him.  I just hope I was knocked out really quickly.

The next thing I remember is waking up in the surgical suite and feeling very happy and extremely content.

Happiness.  I was happy because I knew the surgery was over and I did not experience a rare fatal reaction to the anesthesia.  More importantly, I realized from this very moment forward, I would never again have to lift my breasts into position when putting on a bra.

Contentment.  I was incredibly content because I had my husband sitting on one side of my surgical bed and my plastic surgeon in a chair on the other side. I was laying down in between the two men in my life who could give me anything I ever wanted – my husband and my plastic surgeon.  What else could a woman ask for? (Well, I guess there is more I could ask for like world peace, a presidential candidate for the 2008 election who is both fiscally conservative and socially liberal, a cure for cancer, one night with Rob Lowe, a Porsche 911 turbo which can convert to a large SUV with a push of a button when it is time for carpool, an hour of peace and quiet in my home and most importantly no-calorie peanut butter.)

However, at that moment in time in the peacefulness of my wonderful surgical suite, I was thrilled.  To my left was the man who gave me the gift of perk and better volume.  And, on my right sat my dear husband who was happy to not only pay for the procedure but was also willing to take over Mommy Responsibilities for the next week so I could have ample time for my new boobs to heal.

After I awoke and had my outer body experience of happiness and contentment,  I must have fallen back asleep.  What followed was another block of time that was a blur.

I somewhat recall asking my husband about four thousand times if he called my mother to tell her I woke up from the surgery – she was not thrilled with the idea of my elective surgery.  Then I saw a blur of kids coming to welcome me home.  The next thing I knew I woke up in my bed and it was dark outside.  While I was still in a heavily drug induced state, I asked my husband to bring me the phone.  This is the point in the blog where I pause to interject a lesson.  The following statement is something the doctor needs to add to the list of patient pre-surgical instructions.

If you are going to have any type of outpatient surgery, BEWARE.  The mental state you will be in after surgery is equivalent to your college partying experiences.  In other words, your decision-making ability is impaired.  Warn your husband ahead of time, “Do not under any circumstances allow me any means of communication with the outside world for at least 12 hours after surgery.”

I wish someone gave me this warning ahead of time.  Unfortunately, once I had the phone in my hands, I proceeded to “drunk dial” for the first time since an infamous night in 1992.  Fortunately, I am a happy drunk.   Redhead + Tequila (or Versed) = an outpouring of love.  When I am sloshed, I tell people how much I care about them and how beautiful they are.  I called my mother, my father, my favorite aunt and my very closest girlfriend and told them all how much I loved them.  Then, I wobbled into my office and answered emails.  Obviously, I am so addicted to my daily email dose that I even wanted to read (and answer) them while completely out of it.  A few days later, I was very nervous to re-read my outgoing emails from that day.  Like I said, it is a good thing, I am a nice drunk!

Since my surgery was on a Friday, I was prepared for a really difficult weekend.  I could not have been more wrong.  Those next few days turned out to be the most relaxing weekend I have had in the last 12 years.  Oh, I fondly remember the joy of being waited on hand and foot by my husband and kids.  My husband even set an alarm at night to make sure I took my medicine every four hours so I would not have pain.  At 3 a.m. the first night, he made me a peanut butter sandwich to eat with my pills so I would not get sick.  It was the best peanut butter sandwich ever!  Also, many of my friends emailed and called to see how I was.  Friends brought gifts:  comfy pajamas, magazines, flowers, and my very first fruit bouquet.  By the end of the weekend, I realized how easy it could be to develop Munchausen’s Syndrome (the disorder in which you fake illness for attention). 

Fortunately for my husband, my plate-o-crazy is already full.  I will not be adding any new neurosis to my repertoire – not even if it gets me lots and lots of attention and gifts.

To be fair, I must acknowledge that there were a few physical annoyances during healing.  I woke up each morning feeling as if a herd of elephants were sitting on my chest.  Bathing was difficult as I could not reach up to adjust the showerhead back to my height (why do men have to change that every time they take a shower).  Also, there was no way I could lift my arms to blow dry my hair for the first few weeks – but, I had “The Incredible Luis” do my hair once I was ready to leave the house.

Well my friends, that concludes the story of my journey to becoming the perkier saline-filled redhead I am today.  I hope I have given you some good info to think about in case you too decide to take this journey for yourself.  I truly believe my new boobs are the best superficial gifts I have ever given myself!

I do want to leave you with one last thought.  The most interesting side effect of the surgery was the short-term numbness in my breasts.  For the first time in my life, I was able to feel what breasts really feel like.   When you are a heterosexual woman, you never get the opportunity to feel a breast without the sensation being combined with your own nerves on your hands.  So, with numb breasts, taking a shower was like washing someone else’s body.  It was kind of funny to have the one and only lesbian experience of my life with myself.  ( So now, you are either laughing or my blog just jumped the shark!)

 

Remember, even though I am done with this journey, be assured, I still have much to say!  Check back in with me in a few days and I am sure I will be rambling about something new.  Until then, good night!