Gastric Bypass Barbie

Finally.

Not my boobs.

Yesterday, as I was preparing for a photo shoot, I realized that I have finally learned to love a couple of things about myself: My Bariatric Bionic Boobs.

I know, I know. That sounds so…crass. Vulgar. Blatant. But, it’s true!

Okay, maybe I should *fill* you in a little (if you’ll excuse the pun)…I did have a breast lift with augmentation back in February of 2009, and did undergo a couple of revisions to get the girls to cooperate, but even after that, I still was NOT in love with my vastly improved, but (in my estimation) radically unnatural new rack. That is not to say that I look ridiculously large (or, God-forbid — pornographic!) — No, my doctor did a fabulous job of getting me balanced and proportional for my height and body type.

It’s just that, I know what “real breasts” feel like, and these are NOT those. And, THAT is what was tripping me up. That, and the fact that my bra size was a 34D and I wanted to be a C. Yes, I am the odd woman who DOESN’T want to be big – LOL. So, what changed my mind, you ask? How about a visit to my Aunt Victoria’s House of Loveliness and All Things Womanly? How about, she finally told me her secret and it was WAY more titillating than I ever imagined! Yes, I finally bought a bra from Victoria’s Secret.

I swear I hear choirs of angels singing when I strap this thing on, but it truly is miraculous. Oh, the best part? It’s a 36C — not a 34D! I know, I know, technically, as any knowledgeable “support professional” will tell you, the two sizes are “sisters” (just like my new girls) — BUT — this does fit differently, and I LOVE my new decolletage

Finally, finally, FINALLY, I feel like a well-proportioned (blessedly endowed) WOMAN. Finally, these things are starting to feel…well…normal(ish). I LOVE wearing tops with gorgeous necklines — even simple tees from Forever 21 feel fabulous.

So, that’s my story. It’s sort of the end of a chapter of my life (that lasted for much longer than I’d expected), but the beginning of my new book. I guess we’ll call it the Big Book of Boobs, and I guarantee you, it’s gonna be a TOP seller

A world of thanks to Dr. Katzen for your patience and artistry. I say it all the time, but I truly mean it. You are a GENIUS!

Me and the girls (finally) thank you from the TOP of our swelling heart.

WARNING: The following is a FRANK and EARNEST discussion about my reconstructive surgery. If you don’t want to hear about implants, click away now.

Two men are keeping me awake right now: FRANK and EARNEST.
That’s why I’m up writing my blog, instead of in bed, sawing off logs (cute, huh?)

But…I’m serious….

As many of you know, two weeks ago, I had to have a third revision done on my breasts to fix a problem. Not to be graphic, but my overstretched tissued had sagged away from the implants, causing them to unattractively “reposition on my chest wall.” This is something known as “bottoming out” and it happens in about 1 or 2 of my doctor’s patients each year. Unfortunately, it’s just the latest chapter in my disappointing saga with implants.

Ironically, I have sat down many times in the last year and blogged about my unhappiness with these “alien beings,” but each time, I hit “delete” before posting.

This time is different. This time, I’ve gotten to a different place emotionally and I’m ready to share.

Now, to be fair, there were several good reasons for not writing about it until now:

1) I didn’t want to sound like a complainer.
I know there are a lot of women who would give anything to have the reconstructive surgery that I’ve had, and I’d be hard pressed to find anyone who thinks my rebuilt “rack” looks bad. Of course, that is IN my clothes; out of my clothes, it’s quite a different story.

2) I didn’t want anyone to know how much I detest my implants.
You know, I’m EARNESTLY trying to come to terms with these implants, but in my eyes, they represent two, big, fat blobs of failure. I mean, if I hadn’t gotten morbidly obese and abused by body, then maybe I wouldn’t have needed the surgery in the first place – of course, as a 40-something year-old woman, you and I both know I’m kidding myself, because we all go “south” for the winter – but, to me, my implants will always be bolt-on parts that get in my way and are completely unnatural. To make me feel even worse about it, I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t love her new boobs. Okay, I’m sure there are a few out there, but they probably feel the same way I do, and are embarrassed to talk about it. I don’t know…maybe I wasn’t “cut out” for implants (if you’ll excuse the pun); I’ve had real breasts and these annoying silicone bags will never pass for the real thing. This cannot possibly be Victoria’s Secret, can it?

3) FRANKLY, I didn’t want to say anything, for fear people would think my wonderful, gifted, compassionate plastic surgeon (Dr. Katzen) had done something wrong. Trust me, nothing could be further from the truth. He is a skilled doctor who is generously trying to remedy a problem caused entirely by my inelastic skin. Maybe it’s a lost cause…maybe my stretched-out skin isn’t done stretching. I’m not sure…

* * *

So, why am I awake now? Well, this whole last procedure (as with the other 2) was a little (lot) harder than I thought it would be, and I’m experiencing a lot of pain. I don’t know why I’m so surprised by this, because my fibromyalgia ALWAYS complicates things, but here I am, awake at 1 o’clock in the morning, because my damned implants are making my life a little hellish. I’m earnestly trying to feel better, but frankly, I still have to take strong pain killers just to survive – a fact which disappoints me to no end because, among other things, these drugs have a pesky little side-effect called: Insomnia. (The other side-effect is addiction, but I ain’t going there, so don’t worry about that!) The reality is, there’s really nothing I can do if I want to be able to live and rest pseudo-comfortably, so I have to continue taking the meds a little longer.

* * *

You know what? I think I’m just mentally DONE with the pain. I’ve hit the wall, and don’t have any reserves in the “cope tank.” After all, me and my breasts have been through this three times now, and I’ve been so carved up, I feel like a turkey on Thanksgiving day – although, to be honest, my turkeys’ cuts have never looked this clean, and I’ve never stitched one back up, but I digress…

Ultimately, I have to realize that this is just another of those instances where I can’t WILL myself to feel better, or heal faster, (or stop sagging), and that is really, really demoralizing. I am a very positive person and I hate complaining. I just want to be back to normal (well, my new normal, anyway) and get back to life without pain or restriction. But I can’t. Not yet, anyway.

So, I guess I’ll leave it at this: I hope that my frankness about my hate-affair with my implants will help someone else who is feeling the same way about hers, feel a little less alone. Meanwhile, I will work earnestly to accept that these are a part of my body, and will be for many more years.

Maybe this last procedure will do the trick. I can’t be sure, but I’m trying to find a little optimism, if for no other reason than this: I can’t go through this again. I suck at surgery.

Alright. I’m done. Time to get off the pity pot. Me and my sore boobs are going to go back to bed so I can find a comfortable position, close my eyes, and get some sleep.

Now…let’s not talk about this anymore.

Living with Fibromyalgia After Plastic Surgery

I have suffered with Fibromyalgia for more than 20 years. When we first figured it out (maybe 11 years ago), very little was known about it, and most people believed it was “all in my head.”

Fortunately, there were “tests” (pressure points that you push on) to determine if you had it, and I “passed” with flying colors. This was good news for me because, in my mind, if there was a “test,” there must be an actual “syndrome,” and maybe even a cure.

At the time, I was depressed, obese, not sleeping, not exercising, in constant pain, suffering from massive headaches, and generally feeling pretty crappy all the time.

According to doctors, the “cure” was simple: Exercise and eat a healthy diet.

Gee, why didn’t I think of that?

So, I’d patiently explain to them (ad nauseum) that I was trapped in a vicious cycle and couldn’t break free:  My sleep disorder kept me from getting deep, regenerative sleep (REM, as they used to call it). Thus, I would awaken feeing unrefreshed and in pain. Naturally, this is because my body wasn’t able to recover from the previous day, so it was as if I’d never really gone to bed at all.

By the time I’d drag myself out of bed in the morning — complaining that I felt like I’d been “run over by a freight train” — I’d head to work (exhausted and brain dead.)

How could I even THINK of working out in that condition? I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other, let alone walk on a treadmill. And did I mention the bottoms of my feet bled if I tried to walk too far? Yeah, that was because my liver wasn’t eliminating toxins properly, and had to get rid of them through my feet!

And what about eating right? Too much effort for too little pay-off. I would go straight for the white sugar carbs because they were the easiest to turn and burn. Since I had no energy, my body couldn’t really process higher quality proteins and fibers, so I would go for the quick fix and throw in a little caffeine (6-8 Diet Pepsi’s per day — plus Big Gulps and Super-Sized whatevers!)

So, no exercise, no sleep and no healthy eating. Talk about a trifecta for disaster.

Well, my *helpful* doctors recommended sleeping pills to help “break the cycle.” Only problem was, they caused depression and a mad craving for CHOCOLATE! No kidding, it’s a documented side effect.

Not what I needed.

I suffered in silence for years and years. Along the way, tried lots of “home remedies” and “homeopathic cures” for the condition. I determined that yeast was playing a large roll in my condition, so I eliminated that — for as long as I could take it. I also tried taking vast quantities of “whole food supplements,” getting chiropractic care, doing accupuncture, using adrenal complexes, etc. All in an effort to thwart the disease naturally.

As long as I did everything PERFECTLY, I had some relief. But the moment I slipped, it was all over and I’d slide back to my old, comfortable habits.

* * *

Fortunately, in December of 2007, I was granted the miracle of gastric bypass surgery, and my fibromyalgia went away. Or, so I thought.

I was feeling great, having energy, eating right, exercising like a mad-woman — doing all of the things I could never do.

And then I decided to have reconstructive surgery.

Now, I’d done all of my research, asking other post-ops about their pain levels, recovery experiences, complications, etc. I felt quite confident that I had a handle on what I could expect, and I didn’t think there would be any surprises.

Little did I know, my FM was going to rear its ugly head in a big, big way!

The pain from my brachioplasty and breast lift with augmentation were unbearable at times, and I felt like such a wimp. What was causing it? Why was my pain so much greater than others’? Why was I so reliant upon the heavy-duty pain meds? Percocet, Vicodin, Darvocet, Robaxin, Codeine — you name it, I tried it! But those drugs would only take the edge off the pain for an hour or two at best. That would leave me struggling (and counting the minutes) for the next two hours — until I could take the next round. I would have to set my alarm for the middle of the night, so I wouldn’t miss a dosage. God forbid that were to happen, I would awaken in abject agony that didn’t go away until 30 minutes after taking my meds.

It was so rough on my husband and daughter, and I still feel really bad about misjudging the severity of post-op recovery. They lived my pain and struggles every bit as much as I did.

Oddly, it never occurred to me that I was struggling more than the average person because of my FM. Remember, I thought that was a thing of the past. It was my plastic surgeon who pointed it out to me, after asking a series of questions.

Once I was able to say, “Ah-HA! That’s why I hurt so much!” you’d think I’d have felt better. I mean, “knowing” why I was in such pain should have made it easier to tolerate, right? Sadly, no. I just had to tough it out….and then tough it out again after a revision surgery.

Wait — not so quick! This story DOES have a happy ending

Fast forward 2 months and 3 weeks, and I’m back to all of my previous physical activity without limitations. Oh, I still have plenty of localized pain and numbness, far beyond what an “average patient” would experience, but  I’ve finally accepted the fact that I’m unique and might have to live with some level of discomfort for the rest of my life. If that be the case, then I’m okay with it. Why? Because my quality of life is so far beyond anything I could ever have imagined pre-WLS and pre-plastics.

I have gorgeous, toned, tanned (thank you self-tanning lotion) arms and perky (maybe too perky) breasts, and life is good. Okay, the bras are expensive, but hey, learning Victoria’s “Secret” doesn’t come cheaply!

The moral of the story?

For those of you who have fibromyalgia and are contemplating plastic surgery, I would caution you to be prepared for the worst and hope for the best. Your pain levels might far exceed others’, but if you keep a good attitude about it, and realize that — eventually, anyway — most (if not all) of the discomfort and pain will pass — you will be a huge success!

I have zero regrets about having any of my surgeries and would do it again in a heartbeat.  Having said that, would I entertain the idea of a tummy tuck or thigh lift? Probably not. But then, maybe it’s like childbirth and I just haven’t given it enough time to “forget the pain!”

JUZO Compression Sleeves

After my brachioplasty (wing clipping), I had to wear compression sleeves, to help the incision lines “lay flat.” My surgeon initially recommended some sleeves by Design Veronique, but I’ve gotta tell you — they were HORRIBLE and they hurt! For starters, they had a seam that dug into my armpit (right along my incision, thank you), and a stupid band that pulled my shoulders together so I looked like I was ready to take flight at any moment! Needless to say, I did NOT wear them, and opted to stay in my ace bandage wraps until I could find a suitable replacement.

Enter: JUZO

These sleeves are the most comfortable things on the planet. I continue to wear them at night, just to ensure my scars end up looking flat and lovely Now, these things are NOT cheap (about $70/sleeve), but they are worth it, especially if you take proper care of them. Believe it or not, you actually wash them in hot water and throw them in a hot dryer! This “excites the fibers,” which ensures that they retain enough elasticity to stay up on your arms! The cuffs have a band of silicone “dots” that hold them in place on your bicep. Visualize leg stockings that are like super long socks. Same concept, only these don’t run!

Compression strength varies, but I have 20-30 (whatever that means). Anything stronger, and I wouldn’t have been able to bend my arms.

Length and fit are critical, and should be left to the experts! I had my sleeves fitted at my local “Home Health” supply store. The lady there (Thank you, Steffy!) was incredible and knew just what I needed. She eliminated the guesswork, and I was off to the races.

If you really want to be fancy, these sleeves come in lots of “high-fashion” colors. I opted for “basic beige” since they kinda blended in with my skin (pre Jergen’s Natural Glow tanning lotion, naturally) and “went with everything.”

Anyway, if you go to the Juzo USA site, you can find local dealers (and even online stores) who sell these sleeves. I would caution you against ordering online, unless you already know exactly what length and cuff diameter you will need. If the sleeves don’t fit properly (too tight or not tight enough), they will NOT do the job!