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Memoirs of a Tummy Tuck

One young mother of two shares the intimate details of her abdominoplasty—the good, the bad, and, ultimately, the beautiful.
By D Magazine |

When my water broke, I weighed 207 pounds. It doesn’t sound that bad, considering I was about to deliver twins. Except that I’m only 5 feet tall.

I knew from the moment I got pregnant that I’d have a tummy tuck. (To be honest, that’s often how I’d justify eating a chicken finger basket and gravy from Whataburger after a night out with girlfriends when we were in our early 20s. I just said to myself, “One day I’ll get pregnant, and then I’ll have a tummy tuck.”) In fact, we started saving for my plastic surgery through our health insurance’s cafeteria plan; my husband and I paid for the babies’ deliveries out of our own pocket.

Now, I know that chicken finger story doesn’t portray me in the most flattering light, but, in my defense, I was rather athletic growing up. My sisters and I always played  sports—tennis and swimming—and I continued to play tennis during college. So, when you’re that active, a run to Whataburger isn’t the end of the world. I ate like a roving zoo animal through college and during my early career days in New York City. When you’re in college, you’re walking all over campus. In New York, you have to walk a mile just to reach a subway station. Your transportation in New York is your feet. Unlike now, when I drive the half-mile to Kroger, and I think I deserve a pat on the back for walking my girls up the street to the park.

Unfortunately, eventually everything I had ever eaten had attached itself to my hips.

I admit that I was too heavy even before I got pregnant. After I got married, I started to put on weight slowly. A four-week honeymoon, during which we ate our way through Greece, certainly didn’t help. I mean, who comes back from their honeymoon obese? So I wasn’t in the best shape to be carrying one baby, much less two. (In case you were wondering: yes, the pregnancy was a surprise.)

I went to see my obstetrician regularly, and she told me that it was appropriate to gain about five pounds a month. One time, I had gained 17 pounds between visits. She wasn’t too alarmed, but she said she didn’t want to see that kind of weight gain again.

In the last few months of my pregnancy, eating was painful. One of the babies was pressing into my ribs, and I suffered from acid reflux and heartburn. I was barely eating at all—yet I was still gaining weight. My hands were sausages. I had no fingers. My feet were swollen. I usually wear a size 7; I was wearing my husband’s flip-flops to the doctor’s—he wears an 11—and I could barely fit into those. I don’t know why I got so fat, and I was worried I would deliver early.

During most of my pregnancy, I didn’t want to see anyone. Actually, I didn’t want anyone to see me. Yes, I know. Everyone would have loved me anyway. But I felt so terrible for so many months—not at all like myself—and by the time I was ready to deliver, after months of bed rest, I was totally unrecognizable. (To illustrate my point: my dad, who is a physician, thought something was wrong with me because I was so swollen, so he made me go back to the doctor after the babies were born to run some blood work just to be sure.) This in stark contrast to my mom, who likes to brag that she wore her jeans home from the hospital after she delivered my sisters and me. I was bigger in my fourth month of pregnancy than my mom was in her eighth.

By the time I checked out of the hospital and took my girls home, I was down to 180 pounds. It was mostly water weight. Six months later—all I was doing was getting up and taking care of the babies, because I was in a deep-survival coma—I was down to 160.

Around that time, I went to a party for my sister’s birthday. I bought a new outfit and everything. I thought I looked pretty good—until I saw the slide show my mom presented several weeks later. Then I realized I was the furthest thing from cute and attractive. I looked like the pig beast slicing the cake, next to my skinny sister. From that moment on, I was done.

***

Not long after my sister’s birthday party, I made an appointment with a nutritionist in Sherman, and I told her the truth. I hate dieting. I like to eat fried things. I won’t buy vegetables and chop them up. I feel put out if something requires more than three minutes to prepare. So we measured my body mass index (BMI) and resting metabolic rate, which was 1,650. To lose weight, I’d have to stick to 1,150 calories a day.

I like Lean Cuisines because they are portion controlled and you know exactly how many calories you are getting. My nutritionist wasn’t too thrilled about them because they’re pretty heavy in starch and sodium, but I knew it was the only way I could stick to the calorie count. I also ate turkey sandwiches and drank a lot of water. I had a bowl of Special K every morning. I measured wine in a baby bottle because it was the only thing I own in which I could measure ounces. I kept a journal and added up my calories every day. It was easy for me to have this routine, so I didn’t have to think about it.

I had a few splurges, of course. My husband got a contract in New Orleans, so I went there with him and ate magnificently. One night, after a particularly buttery dinner, I was so lethargic that I passed out at 8 pm in my jeans and boots. I just wasn’t used to eating like that anymore.

I was a nazi about my eating habits for about six months. By the time my babies turned 1, I looked like a human being again. I was down to my goal weight—115—so I scheduled my plastic surgery. No surgeon worth his salt is going to operate on you when you are 30 or 40 pounds overweight. And, if he says he will, you should run for the door.

Now, just because I was thin again doesn’t mean I didn’t look bad. Yes, I looked good in clothes, but oh, the problems that lay underneath. I was hoping that I wouldn’t get stretch marks because my mother never did—they say it’s hereditary—and for a while I seemed to be in the clear. But one day while I was pregnant, I woke up to see the ravines all over my stomach. I had them below my navel and up to my breasts. Those had to go. I also had this big flap of skin where my stomach had expanded to accommodate the twins. No amount of diet and exercise was ever going to change that.

I wasn’t too worried about the pain of the abdominoplasty, because I’d had a pretty rough delivery—30 hours in labor, followed by a C-section—so I know pain. During the C-section, however, the doctor only cut through skin and tissue, not through muscle, so when I had the tummy tuck, my surgeon had to repair the damage to my stomach muscles, which had gotten all twisted and expanded around the two babies in my belly.

During my tummy tuck, the extra skin was removed—a huge chunk I like to call the “skin quesadilla”—and my skin was pulled down tight, so the stretch marks once running up to my breasts are now down below my navel. I don’t take my wardrobe cues from Britney Spears, so in this case, it didn’t matter. My stomach muscles were cut, straightened out, and sewn back up tight. (If he hadn’t corrected my stomach muscles, I would have ended up with a pooch.) The doctor also performed some light lipo, removing about 600 cc’s, and he had to create a fake belly button because mine was removed with the excess skin. The procedure took about four hours, and I recovered in the surgery center for about one hour, post-op. Thirty minutes after the anesthesia wore off, I was on my way home.

Obviously the tummy tuck is easier than the C-section because you’re asleep. You wake up, and it’s done. During the C-section, you’re awake. You don’t feel the pain, but you do feel the tugging. Imagine the sensation of something being extracted, even if it’s not painful. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d say the C-section was a 6. The tummy tuck was a 10. The liposuction didn’t feel as bad, kind of like a kick in the shin. But that’s probably because it wasn’t a focus of the surgery.

I needed the pain medication. It hurt very badly the day of the surgery and the next two days. I would call the pain acute. The third or fourth day I could get up, but I was hunched over because my muscles had been sewn. I also had drainage tubes for about five days. You have to wait until the blood drainage is below a certain level before you can pull them out. By day five I could take care of my girls, who needed to be lifted. My life resumed as “normal.”

Well, except for the medical-grade binding my surgeon made me buy. It’s a hideous lycra spandex thing that goes from your knees up to your breasts, with eye hooks and zippers on each side. I was mummified every day for six weeks. You have to wear it, because when you take it off, you feel unstable, like jelly. You need it for support. When you take it off to take a shower, you start to want it. A word of advice: buy two or three of these girdles. Spanx won’t cut it. Don’t be cheap. You can’t “hurt” yourself post-surgery if you don’t wear the girdle, but if you do wear it and you take it easy, the faster you will heal.

***

After the surgery, I weighed 110 pounds, and I’ve kept it off in the nine months since then. I don’t write down my food anymore, but I’ve learned to accept my age and my metabolism, so I don’t go overboard. Occasionally I do have chicken fingers with my girls, but that’s the exception, not the rule. My husband and I used to have Snuffer’s every single week. Those days are over. Now months will go by before I set foot in Snuffer’s.

I’ve had to get used to the scar. The incision for the C-section was pretty small, but the abdominoplasty scar runs hip bone to hip bone. I was also a little creeped out by my “new” belly button for the weeks following my surgery. It was really wide and vulgar-looking. But, as time wore on, it became more natural-looking. Basically, you have to make a choice: nasty skin hanging over the waistband of your jeans, or a big scar. I’ll take No. 2 every time. I’d rather have the scar and a funky belly button than flabby skin and stretch marks. I won’t look like a sexpot in a skimpy bikini, but I feel great in my clothes.

It’s important to remember that surgery won’t turn you into a supermodel. Luckily, that’s not what I wanted. I wanted to look like the cute girl I was before I got married and had kids. I don’t need to be the skinniest or most gorgeous woman. I just wanted to be the woman I was when I was dating.

Admittedly I was a little disappointed with the liposuction, because my thighs still touch. But my doctor, who is conservative, told me that I had a butt and wide hips (thanks), and if
he took any more fat from my thighs, it wouldn’t look natural. But I’m okay with that, because I look like myself.


TUMMY TUCK TIPS
For pre- and post-surgery.

*  When a doctor gives you the estimated cost for your procedure, be sure to ask if that includes fees for the facility and anesthesiologist. If the doctor doesn’t have his own surgery center, he may be quoting his fee only. Surgery centers must be accredited and licensed, and they must have a standard operating room and sterile recovery rooms. The anesthesiologist must be a licensed physician; however, doctors may also use a certified registered nurse anesthetist. You should also make sure the doctor has privileges at a major accredited nearby hospital in case of emergency.

*  The overnight stay after surgery is optional, and I tend to think you don’t need it. If you have a complication, you know pretty soon afterward. I went home 30 minutes after waking up from anesthesia. What’s more, your reputable surgeon should be on-call at all times in case something happens that requires his or her attention.

*  Visit your local health food store or GNC and pick up a box of Arnica tablets. This homeopathic remedy is very useful in reducing swelling and bruising post-surgery.

*   The little gauze pads they give you after surgery really don’t cut it for your abdominoplasty incision. Psychologically, I really wanted to protect this giant incision from the nylon of the girdle, because the incision kind of oozes for a while. It hurts to take the girdle on and off, so you don’t want to have to change these bandages every hour. I ended up using those old-fashioned Kotex pads. They absorbed the blood and made an excellent padding against the girdle and my clothes. I just put the pad against the incision and the sticky part on the girdle.

*   The price for a tummy tuck with light lipo depends on the doctor and can range anywhere from $8,000 to more than $12,000. If the surgeon doesn’t have his own surgery center, he or she will typically do the procedures in the “ambulatory surgery center.” Patients who elect to have surgery in an ASC arrive on the day of the procedure, have the surgery in an operating room, and recover under the care of the nursing staff, all without a hospital admission.
 
*   If you are considering abdominoplasty, make sure the surgeon is planning to sew the muscles. If the muscles are not sewn back tightly, you will still have a pooch, and your stomach won’t have the appearance of being taut. The only reason you should opt out of having the muscles sewn is if you’re planning to get pregnant.

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