Sleeveless

So today was a bit of a milestone. It was the first time I have ever worn a sleeveless shirt to work.

I’m still not thrilled with my arms. However, I’m no longer downright ashamed of them. I was a bit anxious about it when I decided what to wear last night, but I didn’t second guess my choice to go sleeveless all day. I felt like I looked quite spiffy even.

And though I’ve gained a bit, so my stomach is certainly not close to flat, it doesn’t bulge out anymore. So I feel confident to walk straight and tall with my shoulders back. I’m showing off the boobs I paid for — rather than pushing out my stomach further.

I’m very anxious and nit picky about the surgeries I’ve had. None of them came out with the expected results. I’m most happy with the tummy tuck. However, my anxiety just riddles me with the fact that I’ve gained weight and “ruined it.” Yet, I’m so much more confident walking around without my stomach poking out. It’s the surgery I’m happiest with. Next would be the boobs. They’re lopsided, but I went from nothing to a lot of something. So I can’t complain too hard. Mr C loves them too! The arms I’d say I’m the least happy with the outcome. I still have huge, fat arms. However, these arms are a million times better than what I had before! It’s just a shame I never kept any of the unflattering pictures.

I’m very happy I went through this process and these surgeries. Are my parts as wonderful as I’d hoped? No. Did I trade up on all of them? Hell fucking yes. Worth it.

Plastic Surgeon Consultation

So today Mr C and I went to see the plastic surgeon. It was strange. Most of it was the nurse telling me a million things I already knew. I’ve heavily researched what I want done so none of it was new. I know the recovery times, the scars, the areas they cut, the results to expect, the recovery time. I even celebrated when she mentioned exparel! Yeah, bitch I know that — it’s a pain blocker shot they inject directly into your muscles while they operate that lasts 3 days. $400, shoot me up, bitches! Less oral pain meds and gets you over that nightmare day 2 and 3. Hells yeah. You want me to leave the surgical tape on as long as possible, of course.

So then it was waiting around for the doctor. And sweating like crazy.

Oh wait — first were the terrible pictures of me in teeny tiny underwear that was way too small for my fat ass. One size does not fit all in the plastic surgeons office, ladies. Pictures of every angle, mostly butt naked, all up in my fat folds. Thanks. This is the photo shoot I always wanted. I felt a lot better having Mr C with me, actually. It was like we were suffering this craziness and embarrassment together. Awesome. I look forward to being in your photo albums.

Then was the waiting around for the doctor and sweating like crazy. I took off that stupid paper gown because paper doesn’t breath. And I asked for a paper blanket to cover up because again, one size doesn’t fit all, ladies. That “gown” had ties on it but they were for Barbie — they weren’t gonna go half way around my ass.

I think my nakedness freaked the doctor out. Which I didn’t get, I mean you’re here to look at and grab and poke at my fat rolls. But he insisted on “as much modesty as possible.” Not sure he liked me — but he likes my wallet so he couldn’t show it 😉

Oh, also, apparently Mr C doesn’t have curiosity about buttons and switches. While waiting, I discovered the switch that made the photo backdrop go up and down AND the volume control for the non existent music. That man lacks curiosity. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed it. He just isn’t inquisitive. He was like “I bet if you had a red button that said do not press. you’d press it.” Well, first I’d ask what it did. But yeah, you leave me alone long enough with no answer, that button is gonna consume my every thought.

Anyway — Surprisingly, the doctor 100% agreed with me! While doing the arms and stomach at the same time is frowned upon and not normally what he would do. He said he’d do it! I’m gonna be in a shit ton of pain for 2 weeks, but he’ll do it! Why? Well, he totally understood. For most people, boobs are their biggest concern. For ME, though — they’re last. My arms bother me the most. That’s followed by my stomach. my stomach pudge sticks out further than my breasts. It makes it look like I’m wearing skin tight pants even if they’re actually too big. It’s just always there flopping around. How can I make an educated decision about my boob size when my arms and stomach are so huge? I don’t know what I’m gonna look like at all! How much is my stomach going to go down? What will I want to balance out my ass? I might not go as big as I would now with this huge stomach. He understood this and agreed. Lets do the stomach and arms and then decide on the breasts!

Now the prices, they were a lot more than we expected. The stomach and arms are as much as we thought the whole kit-and-caboodle was gonna cost. So I’m all in, the question is with Mr C. He’s in charge of finances. So will he go for now or will he want to save up more…

To Be Continued.

Weight Anxiety

I’ve been having a lot more anxiety and panic lately. I think I’ve narrowed a part of it down the the upcoming appointment with the plastic surgeon. Am I excited? Fuck yes, I am! However, I’m freaking out about my weight gain.

Since mom died. I gained some weight. That threw off my thyroid and made me super hypothyroid. Depression combined with hypothyroidism gang banged each other into over 30lbs. I’m already afraid the doctor won’t accept doing elective surgery on someone of my size (which I would like to get down to 220lbs even though I had been lower — also remember, friend – Mrs C used to be pushing 400lbs so this is a great weight).

I wasn’t extremely worried about the weight gain. I haven’t changed clothes sizes. My doctor caught the thyroid labs being off and we fixed them. I’ve dropped about 7lbs since then. I’ve remained keto throughout. So I know that, eventually, I’ll drop the excess and get back to where I want to be. I wasn’t worried about it. Now, with what feels like a deadline, I’m worried about it.

It’s also “that time of the month.” That combined with seeing a bad photo of myself has my self esteem in the negative numbers. We’re talking shit hole here. Bad. Hence the panic attacks.

I think identifying the root cause has helped a small amount. I talked to Mr C about it. And it’s just a consultation. Maybe he says he’ll do it when I drop the 17lbs to get back to 220. I’m still really excited about boobs and tattoos! Boobs and tattoos! A 3/4 sleeve, a portrait of my beloved Jack, and now I want a little goomba on my foot/ankle. I’m already getting more tattoos and I haven’t even started. YAY!