Today is the one year anniversary of a not terribly fun event, my chest to crotch liposuction procedure. The past year certainly zipped by quickly. (But don't they all?)
For eight weeks post-op, I had to wear an incredibly tight compression vest over my chest, a wide wrap-around velcro band to squeeze my stomach and hold things in place while I healed, and--best of all--women's bike shorts, size SMALL. (If you think that sounds extraordinarily uncomfortable, you're barely scratching the surface of what it was really like.) I was a vision in surgical white, let me tell you.
Anyway, I'm supposed to make an appointment with my surgeon for my one year follow-up visit. I guess I'll be a good little patient and set up the appointment, but I dread it.
As soon as my jolly surgeon comes into the office, he'll whip out the horrible Polaroids (yes, actual Polaroids in 2007!) that he took of my naked, magic-markered-up bod just before I was wheeled into the operating room.
I know the point is to remind me of how different I look now, and it's true that with the passage of time I have sort of forgotten my old shape, but I still hate seeing the nasty "Before" pictures. (The lighting in the prep-room was not flattering, either.)
There's just something slightly pervy about having someone show you naked pictures of yourself.
My other fear is that he'll offer to perform a free touch-up on some part of me. Sure, I'd love to have a little more fat removed, but for the surgery to be free, it would have to be performed under local anesthesia in his office. That just does NOT sound fun. (And I have confirmation that it's not fun from someone who experienced it first hand.)
I also have very little desire to go through the recovery after another surgery, even a much more minor one than last year's. So I'd probably say no if he offers a touch-up.
Get thee behind me, surgeon!