The_Surgeon

What a wild roller coaster ride! Out of necessity, I had convinced myself the plastic surgeon would decline to do my surgery due to my wretched surgical history of a hysterectomy I had in 1974. I won't go into a lot of detail, but my surgical records (which I have in my possession), show a critically sick young woman whose estimated four hour surgery turned into a 12-hour surgery. During that surgery docs discovered that my bowel had fused to other organs, the tubes leading from my kidneys to my bladder couldn't be found and more. Simply put, I was a mess and it was likely I had so much intra-abdominal scarring from that surgery that this surgeon would rather not take the risk.
I needed to convince myself I wouldn't be a good candidate. Above all, I am a realist. I knew that if I had my heart set on this and the surgeon told me "No" that I would be devastated beyond words. And so I accepted that I wouldn't be having the surgery.
The day started out ominously. The hotel neglected to give us our wake-up call, and so I ran around panicked, like a chicken with my head cut off. This was not how I envisioned the whole thing! I saw myself having 45 minutes to spare and spending that time reading and steeling myself for the visit. Instead I was handed chaos. I kept saying to myself, "Relax Karen," "Breathe Karen," "You'll do fine Karen," in a desperate attempt to calm my jangling nerves. Despite the rocky start, we made it in time to the appointment.
The building itself was formidable - all steel and glass. It spoke of unspeakable things going on behind the smoked glass. But of course I'm a drama queen at times and really it was nothing more than a harmless building, I kept reminding myself. As I rode up in the elevator I began to smell the acrid, chemical smell of operating rooms and doctor's offices. With each floor the elevator rose, so did my panic level until I wanted to press L for lobby and run back to the truck as quickly as my legs would carry me. But I would do no such thing. I knew that unless this question was answered one way or another I would always wonder "What if????'" It is the what ifs in life which drive me crazy at times, and so when the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor I willed one foot in front of the other - my heart beating wildly, my mouth dry. I snuck a peak over at my husband, but his face said nothing. Instead he lightly touched my hand, all too aware of my emotions which were bubbling on the surface.
Before I opened the brass door, I put on my game face, but not without great difficulty. Opening that door was one of the hardest things I have had to do in a long time. With a quick thrust of my hand I jarred the door open, not allowing myself time to think - or run! In front of me was a long desk with five receptionists. Dotting the walls were pictures of perfect people. The message was clear - see how wonderful plastic surgery is? If YOU have plastic surgery your life will be perfect too! I knew better than that, but the pictures intrigued me nonetheless. After filling out a medical history form, I nervously sat, eyes darting around the room. To my left sat a woman in her 30s. One side of her mouth was drawn down due to disease or deformity - I knew not from which. At that moment I almost walked out. Here I am, waiting for a vanity operation, while there are others who need reconstructive surgery. The shame was almost too much. But I quickly pushed it away. My whole life I have felt undeserving of good things - unimportant. Not worth spending time, or money over. But since losing weight I have learned to value myself and put myself first when it comes to my physical and emotional health. And so I sat, head bowed, hands clasped, saying a silent prayer. For what I know not. For acceptance of whatever maybe?
In a few short moments Patrice, the nurse who would guide me through this process, took me into the "library" where she put in a short three-minute video on abdominal surgery. I jokingly asked her about the popcorn, trying to hide my nervousness. After that it was back to the waiting room and then my name was called. It was time for the verdict. As I rounded the corner I spied an open door. In that room sat a well-tanned 40-something man. He was impeccably groomed. My eyes went straight to his hands. If this was my surgeon I wanted to see his hands. Silly huh?
He stood up and introduced himself, hand held out, eyes meeting. A good start. I have a real thing about people who can't look you in the eyes. As I settled myself into the chair I applied my impenetrable game face. There was no way I was going to let him see my disappointment when he told me he couldn't help me! After a bit of talking he ushered me into an examining room, then discreetly left for a minute or two while I put on the ugly blue examining gown. Heart racing, I tried to calm myself by looking at the illustrations of face lifts, tummy tucks and breast augmentations. But it was useless, all I could do was think about my upcoming disappointment and try and steel myself for the inevitable.
Then, just as I thought I couldn't take the suspense any longer, there he was, directing me to stand before him as he sat. I cringed as he reached out and gently drew my panties down to the top of my pubic area. And then his hands were upon me, manipulating the skin and fat. I was mortified! I looked down and could see all of my shame in his hands, jiggling away. I wanted to die. I bit my lip and looked up at the ceiling. Then he directed me to lay down. Like the ninny I am, I lay down and spread my legs!!! Sheesh Karen!!! This isn't a gynecological exam! My face flaming, my legs snapped together like a vice. A quick peak at Dr. Williamson's face revealed dancing eyes, and lips which threatened to break into a full-face grin. I lay back, the grin contagious. Well, at least he won't forget me, I thought...snickering silently.
He then asked me to put my chin to my chest as if doing sit ups. I fully understood what he was testing - my muscle tone. "Uh huh," he said non-committally. What??? Uh huh, you can't do it???? Uh huh I have no tone??? Uh huh you can do it? What?????????
Then he tells me to stand up, and once again he grabs my belly. "Yes, I think you're an excellent candidate," he says, already assessing in his surgeon's mind what, exactly, has to be done. "Yes, I think we can really get a great outcome on this," he say.
I stare at him. Did I hear him right? "I was afraid you would say no because of my history," I blurt, so close to joyous tears now that this is all I can say for several minutes. "Well, we don't go as deep as a hysterectomy, and your skin is amazingly pliable. You also have a lot of good excess skin above your navel, which will work real well for what we plan on doing," he explains.
I venture, "Well, I don't expect to have a waist, considering the way I am built. I've never had a waist, so I don't expect one now," I explain.
He looks at me, eyes twinkling, full of confidence. "Wanna bet," he says, then winks at me.
I am stunned! I actually believe him. As I knew would happen, all of my questions flee my mind, and so I dive for my purse when at least 20 written questions are waiting for such an occasion. One by one I go through the list, and he answers each carefully, even though I could tell he was anxious to leave and see his next patient. That's a great start! A doc who actually will listen to my concerns and address them fully. Had he not have answered in the vein he did, I assure you I would have paid his consult fee and moved on to a surgeon who understood that healing a person involves healing the whole body - including the psyche.
When my questions are exhausted he extends his hand once again and looks me in the eye.
"Nice meeting you. If you decide you want the surgery I will let Shiela know and she will give you more information regarding a pre-op visit and my quote," he finished.
Then, before I know it he's out the door and moving on to his next client. My heart is joyful! I can have the surgery! I am an excellent candidate! They expect good results! I'm going to have a waist! Then it hits me - I'm going to have a navel too! Not this deep, mysterious gash I currently have - but a navel!
Little did I realize, however, the best was yet to come. The receptionist finally does her calculations and hands me the estimate. I almost have to giggle - an estimate - like a mechanic gives you! I'm almost hysterical with internal laughter. 'Scuse me doc, but could you change the oil while in there? And could you adjust the brakes? I seem to be going a little too fast and just can't seem to stop.
I look at the estimate and it all falls into place. This is meant to be. Why I am such a doubter? Why do I put these roadblocks before me before I even get anywhere? There in black in white is the grand total - $5,831.50, almost $1,500 less than I had planned for, which means I have the money! I have earned enough and more!
With paper in hand I run down to the truck where my husband is waiting. After discussing it with him, and thinking we need to go home to make a final decision, he reaches into his wallet and with a smile slowly counts out 10 one-hundred dollar bills. The required desposit. I grab his neck tightly and shower him with kisses, eyes welling up with tears.
"Are you sure?" I ask, wanting to be certain I have his full support.
"Absolutely. If that's what you want...." he says.
I scream for joy and bolt for the surgeon's building, the thousand dollars clenched tightly in my hand, shaking all the way.
So now I have a surgical date - Oct. 22. I keep repeating the date over and over in my head. I know this is likely to be a momentous day. But first I have to return Sept. 23 for a pre-op visit. I'm so frightened. I am a bit of a risk with my blood pressure, history of previous high blood sugar and smoking. I'm hoping I can quit smoking by then...but the blood pressure.... Despite this, I am willing to take the risk.
I want my body back. I want the opportunity to cherish, honour and love it the way I should have from the start. I want a second chance. Not many of us get second chances at life. I want to seize the opportunity, live largely, live right.
Lord, please guide me.
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