So, I'm mayseychild. I'm 21. I'm also undergoing a form of liposuction called VaserLipo on my inner thighs at 9:30am. This blog, whilst so far looking a bit self absorbed, is a way for me to chart the progress of the surgery, both for my benefit and for anyone else who is thinking about it.
For anyone reading this and thinking "21? Foolish girl, why is she getting surgery? Go running! Eat less!" let me clarify.
I've always been a wee bit chubby. It may have been slightly more than "a wee bit" when I had my "ugly duckling phase", as my Mum liked to kindly put it. However, when I was younger I was also a competitive ice dancer- and a damn good one, though I say as shouldn't. I stopped skating at 16- whilst still in the quacking phase- for my GCSE's and the abundance of muscle at the top of my inner thighs swiftly turned to fat.
Whilst my tummy and arms do not affect my life, perception of myself or (within reason) what I can wear on a day to day basis, this does. I cannot wear skirts or dresses without wearing shorts or tights underneath- stockings don't even work. Shorts have to be knee length (which is quite galling as from knee down, I've got a nice set of pins). It is very easy to convince yourself you are obese when you can't wear skirts because your enormous, child-eating thighs will give you heatrash through chafing. And, more to the point- it's bloody uncomfortable.
So, at twenty and beginning my second year of university, I decided I'd damn well do something about it. No more claiming "I'm built for comfort, not speed!". I was going to get my arse in gear. And I did! EVERYWHERE ELSE.
Whilst I dropped a dress size and made everyone exclaim "Goodness! Haven't you lost a lot of weight?" my thighs remained a source of irritation and discomfort. It would appear that no matter your diet or exercise regime, some fat just won't budge. So, when my 21st started rolling around, I decided that it was time to explore a measure a little more drastic.
I feel I should also explain here for those of you that don't know me- I don't really believe in plastic/cosmetic surgery for vanity's sake. I could have my tummy tucked, my arms tightened and toned, my boobs lifted and plumped along with lipo-ing my thighs, and I'd look bloody amazing. But I wouldn't be me. My surgery is purely for comforts sake. Yes, it will be lovely to prance about in hotpants in the summer without wibbling. But it'll be even lovelier to know that in forty-five minutes, I won't be in pain. I won't have a rash. I won't have bruising on my thighs from horrible ingrowing hairs. This may sound terribly self-pitying but I'm sorry, unless you've been there you simply will not understand, and the most I can hope for is that you will sympathise.
It is now nearly one am, and I have to be up in less than seven hours for the surgery. I have done most of the pre-op procedures apart from quitting smoking and frankly, I like it far too much to do so. It's fine, I've got good blood pressure. Got the feeling I may be made to afterwards though.
I'm a little nervous. Not about the op itself, more about everything I have to do afterwards. Or not do, as the case may be. Bless my darling boy, I had to tell him tonight that he wouldn't be getting any for 4 weeks after the surgery. All he said was "fine, but I'd best be getting 4 weeks of sex the day your bandages come off". Fair play.
So there's the background, and a little about me. I hope to be able to blog tomorrow about how the surgery went and how it feels, but if I don't then it's probably because I'm out cold and full of painkillers.
Nosda, my pets.
A xxx
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