Just in case you were thinking you’d try bouncing your lovely new motorola off the surface of the nearest lake – DON’T DO IT! Motorola’s recent pebl ad showing a good looking young man skimming his pebl phone across the water where it’s picked up by a pretty woman, carried a warning which could be deemed a little unnecessary:

“Fictionalisation – the pebl phone is not water resistant”

Viewers! Don't try this at home.

Advertising, it seems, is a curious mixture of checking that we don’t believe something which is entirely implausible, and trying to make us believe something equally implausible. Take for example the L’Oreal ad featuring the lovely Cheryl Cole telling us how her hair feels full of body, replenished and has got its Mojo back. What she omits to say is that this process has nothing to do with shampoo but more to do with the 10 inch hair extensions she had put in place recently.

Things are not quite as they seem in adverts sometimes - Cheryl's hair is great, but normal, after all.

As one who has confessed on here already to a boob job I am definitely not against the occasional bit of fakery, but when it’s being used to trick teenage girls into believing that some rubbish  shampoo will make their hair look entirely different then it’s a whole new ball game. It would be like using Jordan to advertise wonderbras.

Of course there are also lots of ads which make occasionally sitting through the commercial break bearable….

Guinness are full of great ideas for advertising and they don't try and bulls**t us into believing something ridiculous

….but mostly I thank god for sky plus and a kettle.

Will the Dems tax plastic surgery to pay for healthcare?   It’s unAmerican!

One of the most common questions I get during consultation is, or not even in consultation, sometimes on the street or out at a restaurant is what’s best? Saline best? Silicone best? All these are really good questions. The way that I like to answer that question is, you really have to feel them. That’s part of the reason why during my consultation. I let my patients feel them. They grab them, they squeeze the implants, they try them on. Not only for the size, but the texture. The texture of a silicone implant, a gel implant, is very different than what a saline implant feels like. Now, does that mean it’s going to feel completely different when it’s underneath, in your body? Not necessarily. Believe it or not, there’s not a whole lot of difference. Silicone, however, does edge it out. I think silicone, and my patients will agree, silicone has a much more natural feel, and it looks more natural. Saline, on the other hand, is a little bit more tense and because it’s essentially a balloon that’s filled up. However, in 99% of patients, it’s so difficult to tell the difference between saline versus silicone. So, it really becomes a choice for the patient. I can lead them down the road, but I will never make the decision for them. That decision is for them and them alone because it’s their body, and if they want silicone, I think it’s perfectly safe, perfectly natural and it’s a wonderful choice. If they want saline, I think it as perfectly safe, perfectly natural, and it’s a wonderful choice. So that’s something– I really allow my patients to make that decision.

http://www.SarasotaSurgicalArts.com

When I first realized I was going to get the breast augmentation, I did extensive research on the internet looking for different doctors. I visited from Orlando to Venice, going to a total of 13 different plastic surgeons before I picked Doctor Sessa. I did lots of research on exactly what procedure I wanted to use, what kind of implant I was going to use. And then, when I finally got to Doctor Sessa, he was totally comfortable with everything I had
researched. Just reinforced my plans and everything was perfect. The other 12 doctors I met, the atmosphere of the office wasn’t as friendly. I didn’t feel as comfortable. When you’re having surgery, you want to feel super comfortable with the whole staff, so I really could just tell 100% right when I walked in that Doctor Sessa was the one. Just his personality is very kind of bubbly and soft, like I like. It wasn’t just you felt like you were another number, like, oh, it’s just another patient. You actually felt like you were special to him, and he really cared about you, and he didn’t just want your money. He wanted to get to know you and do a really good job and make sure that you were 100% happy. So, I told him I wanted a little bit more natural, which I’m really, really happy with, because I didn’t really want them, like, all up in my chin. I wanted them to, you know, go very relaxed. And that’s the look I wanted. And sometimes with new friends, they don’t even believe me that I have them done. I have to literally show them the tiny scar that you can barely see anyway for them to actually even believe that I got them done, because they feel so real. They look so real. Even my boyfriend, who I met about 3 months after I got them done, didn’t believe me that they were fake. So, that was my goal. So, I’m very happy with that. Well, there’s not really much to talk about with the recovery because there wasn’t a whole lot of recovering. I think 24-hours later, I was already on the beach laying out in a bathing suit. My recovery was definitely really, really quick. They, I guess, give you shots while you’re in surgery to numb you is what I was told. And I had no pain, no bruises at all. I was back to work. I did it during the Fourth of July break because my work is closed, so I would have a week off, but I definitely could’ve went back to work within two or three days easy. It was a very easy recovery. My results are absolutely perfect. Like most women, you always have one breast that’s a little bit bigger than the other. So, that was one of the things I wanted to take care of, which is very slight. And so, I was definitely worried to see if, after the swelling went down, they were perfect, and they were absolutely perfect. Super soft feeling, natural. They sat exactly where I wanted them to sit. The scar is non-existent at all. So, I’m definitely very happy with the results. I’ve recommended him lots of times. I have friends that have come here right after me that have got the same procedure done and other procedures. I definitely recommend him 100%. He’s everything that you could ever ask for in a plastic surgeon. And I definitely support the surgery in general, but I definitely try to motivate my friends to come here to at least get a consultation first, because I know that they will love him.

http://www.SarasotaSurgicalArts.com

This post is going to be even more personal that I usually am about my experiences. Those who have issues with bisexuality or sex outside of marriage should skip this post and come back tomorrow for more about dehisience.

First, for anyone that hasn’t read my Twitter or Facebook profile or doesn’t know me personally, I’m bisexual. That means that I am attracted to both men and women. Not ALL men and not ALL women. Just, well, just the ones I think are cute.

When I realize six years ago that I’m attracted to both genders, hubby and I sat down and we had a series of discussions. Several of those discussions covered dating. Thanks to a book called “The Bisexual’s Guide To The Universe” we laid down rules that we were both comfortable with so that I could actually experience what it would be like to be with another woman.

That was four years ago.

I’ve been on a few dates and even had a short term girlfriend. Nothing ever happened though.

Now I’ve met someone and I like her. If things keep progressing I can see where this might go.

But there’s a problem.

I have NO idea how to tell her about what happened. How do you tell someone that you’re…incomplete? I’m sure divorced and single cancer survivors have had to go through this. And I understand that it’s not just something you blurt out.

Nothing puts a damper on a fun evening like “Oh by the way my boobs rotted off, I had to get them reconstructed and in case I haven’t freaked you out enough yet, I have no nipples.”.

Yeah. THAT’S a real show stopper.

I don’t want to just give her my blog URL either. That’s a WHOLE lot of trauma right there as my regular readers know. And I REALLY like this woman. I don’t want to scare her away.

I’m thinking that if or when this turns romantic, that’s when I’ll tell her. But I have to tell her soon enough that it doesn’t seem like I’m keeping secrets but not so soon that I scare her off. She’s had to deal with enough medical crap herself lately as it is.

As for the actual telling part, I’ve learned that starting with the phrase “We need to talk.” or “There’s something I have to tell you”. usually sets someone on edge. I need to find an opener that will set her at ease. Maybe “There’s something I want to trust you with”. Perhaps “Can I confide in you?”.

I guess this is just something I’m going to have to work on. I’ve got about a week before I see her next, so I have a bit of time. Trust me, you all will probably hear about this again.

After all you already know that Ken enjoys the Twins and he doesn’t seem to care that I don’t have nipples yet. But that’s because my first set was so sensitive that he couldn’t really do anything with them anyway. This is definitely a different twist to this tale though.

I have no idea what’s going on here. Amy Winehouse obviously had a massive boob job (Not that there is anything wrong with that). But, she also has some of the hairiest arms I’ve ever seen. I don’t think Bigfoot has arms that hairy. I’m not sure if I should be turned on or call the local zoo. This is really confusing. I haven’t been this confused since I lost that chess game when I was 12 years old to a computer. How does a computer know what my Rook is going to do next. I’m pretty sure that Radio Shack Tandy thing was totally cheating. It doesn’t know how to feel…how to love…how to give your heart…I hope you’re happy now…you stupid computer…(sniff-sniff).

Let’s hope I can finish this part of the story tonight. I genuinely feel like I’m going to throw up. It’s amazing how visceral my reactions still are even after all this time.

By this point I was absolutely furious but I felt totally helpless to do anything. The news that I couldn’t be stitched back up was devastating. Couple that with the results of the culture and I was even more of a basket case than before. The culture discovered five different types of bacteria: three of which the tech never even heard of. So they put up a bag of the most badass antibiotics they had.

Unfortunately about 1/2 way through the bag I started getting EXTREMELY itchy. My throat started swelling a few minutes later and it became a bit difficult to breathe. Well Ken called the nurse and within a minute or so he had a syringe of something in the IV. He SLAMMED the plunger in and within moments I felt like I was going to pass out.

I got tunnel vision and then the tunnel started narrowing. My body felt very heavy and I felt like I was being pushed down. I told the nurse that I thought I was going to pass out. His reply was “Isn’t it a good thing you’re in the hospital then?”.

So…yeah. I was allergic to the first antibiotic. So they put up something else really badass and I was off again. This one made me a little itchy too so the nurse injected a little syringe of something else. This time much more slowly. In a matter of moments I was doing just fine and made it through the entire bag.

After a bag and a half of serious antibiotics, they also made an appointment for me with an infection specialist. Then one of the nurses packed my chest and they sent me home.

Celebrities Galleries – Lindsay Lohan Boobs

Click on the Images to Enlarge

]]> http://toritiegert.wordpress.com/2009/11/10/tori-got-breast-augmentation-yesterday/ Tue, 10 Nov 2009 21:38:23 +0000 toritiegert http://toritiegert.wordpress.com/2009/11/10/tori-got-breast-augmentation-yesterday/

So, yesterday was the day that I made a long time dream come true.  I have wanted breast implants for years and years, having been in a body cast when I was a young teen and having my breast development stunted. 

I was so excited until the long drive to the surgeon when I started to get a bit nervous.  So many things could go wrong.  Would I like them?  Had I really communicated what I wanted to end up with?  What would my husband think?  All of these questions were there and I could have backed out on the drive, but I didn’t.  If I had, I know I would have regretted it.

Prior to the surgery, I took arnica to reduce bruising, stool softeners in prep for the constipation that pain meds can cause, Celebrex to reduce swelling, and had a Transsderm scop patch to prevent nausea under anesthesia.

The surgery went well, of course, I can’t recall any of it.  I barely remember leaving, but when I got home, all I wanted was to peek at the work.  I was wrapped up tight in bandaging, so I emailed the doc to ask when I could remove it.  He said I could right then and I was so happy.  However, when I did, I must admit that I was a little disappointed, even though I had been warned about the fact that they wouldn’t look the way that they eventually would.  Still, though….they were very high and looked flattened out because they hadn’t dropped in to position yet.  The pain was managable and more like pressure and the bruising was minimal, only under the breast where the incisions were. 

I am glad that I did it, even though the pain is there and they look a bit strange right now.  Any questions that you have, feel free to ask and I will be posting updates soon.

My dearest wife, whom I love very much wants to get some work done!

No no no, I dont mean in the kitchen cooking as I was hoping (jokes), but she was thinking of getting a face lift and boob job done.

Now, I am all for a fuller bra, and we are getting on in years and maybe we could both do with a few less wrinkles, but I do not want my wife ending up looking like Mickey Rourke.

The thought of sleeping next to Rickey Rourke is a very very scary feeling. Any way, what the wife wants she usually gets. So I did some research into the cost of these things and they are not cheap. Actually they are scary expensive.

I found a site that offers Face Lift Loans and Breast Augmentation loans which is a saving grace as I cant afford the work she wants done. I’m keen to see what they can do for me!

     One thing I absolutely love to do is people watch.  I’ve always told my husband that he could just park me on a street corner in the heart of New York City, and I’d be happy as can be for days on end. So when my friends took me out over the weekend to a local bar in my home town, it was THE prime environment for doing just what I love doing.  And the crowd there certainly didn’t disappoint.  There was a smorgasbord of characters on display, let me just tell ya, but the ones who caught my attention the most were the DDD’s, the Dirty Old Bar Fly, and the Drunken Bathroom Lush.

     As my friends and I sat at a corner booth in the front, we couldn’t help but be drawn to the fact that every other girl that walked by seemed to have an unbelievably large rack.  It was as if some plastic surgeon in town had offered a two for one discount or something. I was totally and completely lost in a sea of DDD’s.  One of the blonde ones happened to know my guy friends and came over to say hello. This chick’s DDD’s practically gave me a high five as she approached our table.  I have no clue what the girl’s face even looked like because all I could think about was trying to see if I could balance my glass on those puppies.  After a short conversation about absolutely nothing, blonde DDD went back to join the rest of the boob brigade.

     Then there was the man in his late fifties who was trying WAY too incredibly hard to impress all the DDD’s.  I decided to call him Dirty Old Bar Fly after learning that he was pretty much a staple at every bar in town on the weekends.  He was going with a whole Miami Vice theme, wearing a pink scoop neck t-shirt underneath a blazer, which only made him look even more pathetic.  He also knew my friends and came over to our booth as he was attempting to work the room.  I was immediately drawn to two things as he swaggered our way.  First, his hair was styled in a ridiculously obvious comb-over that looked like he had a dead rat curled up on his head. Second, the fly on his slightly too-tight dress pants was completely wide open.  These two facts sent me into a full-blown giggling fit, and I tried to bury my head in my friend’s shoulder so as to try to camouflage my laughter.  My girlfriend decided she was gonna just march right over and let old boy in on the joke.  We watched in hysterics as she whispered in his ear that he might wanna check himself cause “some air was coming in down below.”  He promptly closed the barn door and strutted his stuff on over to another section of the bar to hit on more of the DDD’s.

     Finally, there was Drunken Bathroom Lush.  You know someone’s three sheets to the wind when she starts telling you how pathetic she is for coming to the bar all by herself.  She was swaying at the mirror trying to primp in the ladies’ room when I went into a stall to pee.  Apparently, she got out her powder compact from her purse and was trying like hell to get my friend to let her put makeup on her. My friend must’ve told her no four times before Lush finally got the hint, but she fumbled in the process and dropped her compact under my stall.  Next thing I knew, this hot mess had crawled on the floor into MY stall to pick up her damn powder while I stood there in amazement in a squat position. I gave her a look of death that said, “There’s a reason why I locked the door, bitch!”  She gave me a glossed-over glance of only minor acknowledgement as she crawled back out again.  We later saw her stumble past our table and leave with some other poor drunken sap.  It would be nothing short of a miracle if either one of them remained awake long enough to even get to first base.

     I could’ve sat in that booth all night long sipping blueberry martinis and watching the freak show play out before me.  The DDD’s, the Dirty Old Bar Fly and the Drunken Bathroom Lush absolutely helped me to forget about all of my problems for a few hours.  It was definitely live entertainment at its very best cause there’s nothing quite like a parade of crazies to liven up a Saturday night.

I remember vividly the day this man walked into my life. It was September 17, 2003 and I had just given birth to my son two days before. Over the course of that 24 hours, I began to realize that something was wrong with my new baby and that he wasn’t eating. He was starving, I could tell by the way he rooted for my breast and cried. For some reason, he wasn’t latching on. I knew I was about to be in trouble because my milk was beginning to come in and my breasts were swollen and painful. I tried relentlessly to get Justin to latch, but his tiny little mouth just wouldn’t form a seal. I cried and became anxious and begged the nurses to ask the doctor to find out what was wrong, afterall, I had never had any problems with my other two children latching on and I surely didn’t have any problems producing milk. In fact, I have often said I could’ve fed a third world nation with the amount I was producing. So, this was truly frustrating me and the baby and as much as I tried not to be upset so my milk wouldn’t be stressy, I couldn’t help but feel this fleeting sense of loss that I may never have the opportunity to nurse another child.

Through that first night and into the next day, the nurses also tried to bottle feed–something I had never done with my two girls and yet, whatever would help the little guy out and satiate his hunger was fine by me. I was also exhausted after a long natural childbirth and welcomed the break–something I had never allowed myself with the first two either. By the second morning, it was becoming clear that something wasn’t right. It just so happened that a particular physician was on call that morning on the OB floor and he was sent in to talk to me. I was holding Justin and trying to get him to suck on a tiny binky. I heard the door open up and as I looked up, I saw a very tall, distinguished, and kind looking man walk into the room. His dark suit made him look taller and I could tell with his handshake that he had the most gentle bedside manner and demeanor.

He proceeded to tell me that Justin was tongue tied. The little membrane that holds the tongue to the floor of your mouth so it won’t fall back in your throat was actually much longer than most babies. His was mounted to the back of his bottom gum line. It was preventing Justin from thrusting his tongue out to draw the nipple into his mouth. It was also preventing him from making the motion with his tongue that helped draw the milk out. Without a small surgery called a frenotomy. It was a fairly routine and ismple procedure where he would make a snip in the membrane and it would allow for improved tongue movement. This had several advantages–breastfeeding, eating as he got older, and most importantly, speech. Being tongue tied would impede the necessary movements the tongue needs to make in order to produce certain sounds.

Of course, I agreed, but felt sick to my stomach that within the first 48 hours of his birth, he had been circumcised (a procedure I watched and almost passed out in) and now this. There was something about this doctor, however, that put me at ease. He was quiet and soft spoken and empathetic to my worry about it hurting. He assured me it would not be bad and that I should immediately nurse my baby afterword. He promised it would do the trick. I believed in him and ya know what? He was right. Never had a problem after that and Justin was a hearty eater. He made up for lost time and spent the next week literally hanging off me. As the doctor left that day, he gave me his card. His name was like two first names and I told myself I would never forget it. I noticed he was a plastic surgeon. I remember thinking two things after thanking him and watching him leave, “Well, if anyone was going to be cutting on my baby, I’m glad it was a plastic surgeon because they will be meticulous about it.” The second thing I thought was, “hhhmmm, I should hang on to this card, never know when I might need that boob job”!

I said it jokingly, but secretly wondered if someday I would have the guts to really have one–afterall the affects of time, gravity and nursing three children had and would continue to prove my point that I was beginning to look like the poster child for National Geographic. Little did I know that my words–my very UN-SPECIFIC words would come back 5 1/2 years later to haunt me.

What do you think–chance encounter or a sign?

After the second surgery there was actually a brief time when I thought that everything might be alright after all.

I should have known better.

I don’t know HOW I should have known better, unless past experience told me that the HiQ had no real idea what he was doing and the man was/is a menace and a disgrace to the medical profession.

I had just hoped that the worst was over.

And for a little while everything WAS okay. I actually had a period of about 12 days when everything looked like it was going to work out. Sure I was going to need one more surgery but at least I didn’t have to deal with the necrosis. I just changed the gauze over the surgical tubing drains and changed dressings like I was told.

Little did I know what was ahead of me.

I forgot to include something in yesterday’s post. Dr. Elliott had mentioned that he wanted to make sure that my breast tissue has become softer. For the first few weeks right after surgery, my new boobies were really hard and stiff. They were actually very hard. It reminded me of how hard my breasts were after the initial implant surgery.

I pointed out a place across the top of my left breast that, to me, felt harder that the rest of the breast tissue. After gently prodding at it a bit in examination Dr. Elliott explained that the harder area is the top of the muscle flap. He also explained that in comparison to what HE meant my hard it was actually very soft and pliant.

Something that I found to be extremely bizarre is that where I thought had keloid scarring, upon examination, appeared to have nothing of the sort. I am chalking this up to a slightly poor fitting Caique bra from Lane Bryant. It is just a little too small and it makes the scar line feel a little lumpy after a whole day of wearing that type of bra.

That’s one more reason to have a proper bra fitting done. Even if you think it’s been done properly, sometimes it hasn’t. Even though their customer service is really, REALLY bad,

Dr. Elliott is EXTREMELY pleased with how well the Twins are doing. He’s thrilled with how much they’ve softened and how well the scars are fading. He’s also pleased with how my back looks.

While he was looking and “groping” (forgive me Dr. Elliott, I don’t know what else to call it when you check to see how they feel) we talked about the things I was curious about. First, I found out the reason my back has that plasticky feeling like someone set down a layer of plastic wrap across a wide section of my back.

The reason for that is that he basically disected my back, probably doing more surgical maneuvering back there than in my chest. The crackly feeling is where scar tissue has formed in kind of a sheet. It will probably take another six months or so for that to release. He gave the same prognosis for the numb areas, although those could take even longer.

We also talked about how subjective the term “recovery” is. You “recover” in the recovery room. You “recover” in the hospital. You “recover” after the surgery and that can take over a year dependent on which aspect of healing we’re talking about. For instance it took me about six months to get my endurance level back to where it was. Some people take more time. Others take less.

It’s subjective.

We also discussed nipple reconstruction. I told him it probably wouldn’t be until this time next year. He said it didn’t matter. We could do it tomorrow, next week or five years from now. Personally *I* was just relieved that he wasn’t planning to retire any time soon.

Another thing we touched on was doing a breast lift. His concern is that there wouldn’t be much point to it because as heavy as the Twins are, they would end up right back where they are in no time at all. I would have to lose at least 30 pounds before it would become feasible.

My big issue with that is around that point the Twins will start getting smaller. As I’ve written before, to watch them shrink away is like watching my original breasts rot away. I just can’t handle that right now. I just can’t. As i sit here typing I can feel the panic rising and the tears filling my eyes. I CAN’T lose them again.

Okay, okay, I know logically that I’m not losing them. They’re a part of me and I love them dearly. I’m just SO not ready for that. And for the first time in my life I’m content to weigh 218.

We also discussed the two little places on my sides that look like little handles. he called them puckers I think. (Dr. Elliott, if you read this please leave a comment and correct my verbage). He said they were normal and occurred as part of the surgery. We could do a little lipo to lessen them but to tuck the skin would require another incision. Dr. Elliott didn’t seem very keen on another couple of incisions on me and I’m really quite okay with that. He explained that when you do the tummy tuck type breast reconstruction you get the same thing at the hip bone area.

Dr. Elliott made a point of mentioning that he was SO happy we had gone with the latissimus flap reconstruction rather than the tummy tuck. We both had been extremely concerned about possible complications. The tummy tuck procedure simply carries more risk and more risk was the LAST thing I needed.

So all in all the Twins are doing great. He wants to see me again Aprilish for my one year check up. In the mean time I REALLY hope that he checks in. He seemed really interested in my blogs.

And in case I haven’t said it enough, he’s an amazing doctor. Every woman who has to go through reconstruction for ANY reason should go see Dr. Elliott at Atlanta Plastic Surgery (http://www.atlplastic.com).

As my regular readers know I developed necrosis two weeks after the October 2nd breast augmentation and lift surgery in 2007. After several weeks of Hell I was scheduled for a second surgery on November 2. This surgery was for the purposes of removing the implants and the remaining necrotic tissue. We showed up in the afternoon at the surgical center – which we had to pay the fee for – I was prepped and before I knew it, part two of my nightmare had begun.

When I was able I looked at what had been done. It seemed, in retrospect, Frankenstinian. The line of vertical sutures looked like someone had whip stitched the skin together. I also found out that, on the left side, there had been a half inch spot left open.

I also found out that over  300 ccs of serous fluid had built up in each pocket. The implants were both intact. That explained the pressure and the bubble under my flesh. Fortunately this time the HiQ put in what passed for really crappy drains. He had inserted open-ended surgical tubing. The outer ends were covered in gauze to absorb the leaking serous fluid that my body produced. Compared to the closed-system drains I had after my reconstruction, these things were positively primitive.

I was also an A cup now down from a DD cup and before that a C cup. This wasn’t nesecarilly a bad thing. I finally had the ski slope breast shape I had been after from the beginning. By ski slope I mean the breasts that are heavy and rounded on the bottom and on the top the breast gently slopes down to be capped by a pert, rosy nipple.

I was just missing the nipple.

The HiQ assured me that after i had healed, we could do reconstruction. At this point I was already starting to have my doubts. But I’ll talk more about that later.

For those of you joining me from NaNoBloMo and reading my blog for the first time, please go read the first post for more information about what BoobCast is all about.

While I was doing the wet to dry bandages before the debridment, I frequently felt like I was a zombie. No, I didn’t want to eat brains, though I DID want to severely damage the HiQ.

***WARNING! GRAPHIC CONTENT AHEAD***

No what I mean is that when I would peel off the wet to dry dressing and pull away bits of dead flesh, I couldn’t help but feel like I was, at least in part, an undead zombie. Here I was dropping bits of flesh. And that’s what zombies do…walk around, eat people and drop bits of their body.

Instead of eating people, I felt like this situation was eating me alive. And not just in the literal sense. I began losing myself to this situation. I WAS a bouncy, vibrant, spur-of-the-moment type of person before I became Zombie Maria.

It has only been in the last month or two that I’ve come back to myself. I’m not there yet. I still shamble a bit, though there are no brain cravings. And unfortunately I still haven’t gottten past the point of wishing the HiQ ill. I really couldn’t actually do anything myself. I’m not that kind of person. But you can damn betcha that I wouldn’t be feeling bad if he were to accidentally get his hands crushed.

The human memory is an odd creature. Or at least mine is. I have been trying to remember incidents from the first four or five weeks after the initial lift and implant insertion surgery. I’ll try to zero in on that time and then my mind will slip sideways as though the memories had a silicone shield. Everything just slides right off. Non-stick memories.

I’m guessing this happens because I tried so hard to repress and not think about what was happening WHILE it was happening. I just dealt with one second at a time, did what I had to do and cried about it afterward.  I was on what amounts to auto pilot. Either that or I detached and focused on the anatomical details. Although that really started more after the second surgery.

I wonder how much of this is a coping mechanism. Avoidance used to be a major part of my modus operandi. From what I learned when I was (briefly) a psych major, avoidance isn’t considered a healthy way of coping. Though I’m not so sure I WAS avoiding. I was changing the wet to dry dressings twice daily and going to my regularly scheduled doctor appointments with the HiQ.

I have to wonder how clearly people remember incidents of severe trauma. Does our brain initiate a response that allows us to be protected from the harshness of those memories? Is it some sort of conscious mechanism in which we tell ourselves that “this gets filed back here and we’re not going to remember this any more”. Rather like sticking our fingers in our ears and yelling “LALALALALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU LALALALALALA!!”

***WARNING – VIVID DESCRIPTION AHEAD***

And then…sometimes I get some vivid memories back. Like one of the times I was pulling off one of the wet to drys and a big chunk of flesh the size of a quarter came away with the necrotic tissue and I felt like Imhotep from “The Mummy”. Or a Zombie.

I actually spent a moment or two trying to put it back in the spot. You know…like when you’re a little kid and you break your favorite toy. You try to put it back together and it won’t go but you just can’t figure out why it won’t go back together.

Yeah, I think I was a little insane for a while.

In the third week after the first surgery I called two different malpractice lawyers. They both told me the same thing. In the state of Florida a plastic surgeon is only required to carry a minimum of $100,000 in malpractice insurance.

That amount would cover the investigative and legal fees and I would be left with very little. In all likelihood it would not be enough to pay for reconstructive surgery.

In the investigative part of the law suit they subpoena the records from the surgery. Once the records are subpoenaed, (or even before that) anyone can go in and change the records to indicate a more favorable position for the surgeon and the surgical team. So by the time the attorney gets them, there may be no evidence at all of malpractice.

It is also difficult to define what exactly constitutes malpractice. Who’s error was it? WAS there even an error?

Much later I spoke to a surgical nurse an another site who said that she thought, from the bruising I described, that something must have gone catastrophically wrong during surgery. But there wasn’t really a way to prove it.

So there you have it. Make sure you know what you’re getting into. Ask how much malpractice insurance your PS carries. You only get one body. Make sure it’s protected.

Even after the debridement the HiQ still had me packing the area with saline soaked wet-to-dry bandages. Every time I asked why this happened his reply was the standard “I don’t know”. When I asked him what was next, his standard reply was “We’ll just have to wait and see.”.

After the debridment I told him that “I don’t know” is no longer an acceptable answer. I let him know that I would accept “I don’t know but I’ll find out” and that I would expect an answer at my next appointment. When he DID finally give me an answer it amounted to “Sometimes these things just happen and we really don’t know why”.

Emotional meltdowns were a regular occurence. Ken still wasn’t allowed in with me. I wasn’t going to expose him to the horror I saw twice a day.

After the debridement there was just raw fatty tissue and flesh. Granular tissue started filling in some of the areas.  granulation tissue the newly formed vascular tissue normally produced in healing of wounds of soft tissue, ultimately forming the cicatrix. A Cicatrix is a scar resulting from formation and contraction of fibrous tissue in a flesh wound So I was starting to heal.

Since the HiQ had removed all the necrotic tissue that he could, the next step was the other bad news. There was no way the implants were going to stay. They had to come out. So they scheduled me for the second surgery on November 2nd 2007. And lucky me, I got to pay for the cost to use the surgical center. Yes. You read that right.

In the next post I’ll talk about the shocking reality of law suits for malpractice.

It sounds scary. I was terrified when the HIQ said that at the next appointment he was going to “remove the dead tissue”. I anticipated pain. I even had a panic attack. As if I wasn’t enough of a basket case as it was. I didn’t even get an explanation as to how it would be done.

By this time I was crying at least once a day. It had finally sunken in that things were really bad. I had lost both nipples and areolae. The tissue was completely dead. The tissue itself was blackened and rubbery. In some places it crackled when I pushed down on it. So it had to be removed.

Dead tissue is a breeding ground for infection and if it wasn’t removed, it would have caused infection that would have gone systemic and eventually killed me. So debriding, even though it sounds terrifying, is actually a good thing.

When we came back for the next appointment, the HiQ STILL didn’t explain exactly what would be going on. Thankfully his nurse did. She explained that this wouldn’t hurt because the tissue he would be removing was dead so the nerve endings were dead too. Because the nerves were dead, there wouldn’t be any sensation except for a pulling sensation.

I sat down and kept my eyes closed the entire time. I do know that he cut the tissue off with surgical scissors because I saw the instruments before the procedure.  All I felt was pressure and tugging. No pain aside from the emotional grieving of having lost an intimate part of myself. I grieved for the loss the same way an amputee or breast cancer survivor would.

It still freaks me out some that he was cutting tissue off my body. It sounds like something out of a horror movie, doesn’t it? Just the concept was enough to freak me out. Yet through all of this I explained calmly and in clinical terms to Hubby what was going to happen. He was, again, not allowed in. I refused to expose him to it and I was determined that I would do my best to maintain a facade of normalcy.

I failed about half the time by this point. But I tried, by damn. I tried.

The most important thing to take away from this post is that if you have to endure debridment, it is NOT painful. It sounds scary but what’s scarier is what will happen if you do NOT have it done. So have it done and do something really nice for yourself afterward.