The Past Week Has Been a Blur...
I feel like I'm starting to be able to rejoin the real world. For a bit, the only way I knew I'd spoken to someone was to review my "recently dialed calls" list on my cell phone during moments of lucidity (i.e., almost time for next dose of meds...)...no joke! I am on Day 5 I guess, not counting surgery day, and I am off narcotics!! Or, at least I'm trying to be - I'm taking tylenol and seeing how I do. Still wiped out and tired - but able to give myself a very respectable sponge bath (mobility has MUCH improved) and feel clean and tidy enough. All bodily functions have resumed - without giving any details - but those who've had surgery know this is a big deal...
I'm a little achy here and there, still negotiating two drains (which are housed in my very fashionable fanny pack) and of course, I'm bound up from hips to chest in a velcro body-wrap and industrial bra. Sexy. It's weird to be squeezed all the time. I suppose it's like getting a constant, somehwhat relentless, hug. Coughing is still no joy, and bending over to say, put socks on, is still not possible. But I can get up and down without wincing, walk across the street and up and down the block...and I even cleaned the bathroom sink. Will the small miracles ever cease? ;)
But here is the crux of this post...I am sad about my boobs.
I think I'm actually grieving the loss of my big boobs, or, perhaps moreso, my identity as a big-boobed girl. I know, I know "this is what YOU wanted Jenn!" true - but hear me out. Though I'd been asking my mom for a breast reduction since about 6th grade, at some point as a teen/early adult, despite being fat, I started to identify - in a good way - with being a girl of ample bosom. It was like, "well, at least I've got that" "that" being one part of my body that was not only societially accepted, but actually celebrated/approved. Am I making sense? So along with the 95% of my body that was essentially "unapproved" (fat) in having the plastic surgery, I also kinda gave up the one part that I think made me feel like I was 'ok' in the past - my giant chest. And mind you, I easily could've opted for implants and kept myself a healthy D or bigger - but I never gave that a thought. I've already got one foreign object in me (my lap band) and I had no need or interest in any more. I never even considered this.
All that said, I had a little moment last night where I just felt some sadness as I looked at my new, C-cup, cute, perky, adorable lil' boobs. They're awesome by anyone's standard - not to toot my own horn, but rather to toot my surgeon's - he did a seriously bang up job. They fit my new body and honestly, look way better than I expected. But still, they are a mere shadow of their former selves...but then again, so am I. I cheated and weighed myself: 171. Wow, 16 lbs, much of which will go with recovery/swelling reduction and I'm at my glorious goal weight of 155.
I am ok with this - and I will adapt and surely embrace the new ta-ta's (ya know, braless in a fabulous dress, for example :) but, I think I may need to just be a little sad and pay homage to what they once were before I get there. And that's ok - this whole losing a person's worth of fat is a process, and honoring these steps keep me emotionally healthly - not doing so just stuffs down feelings that are there regardless of whether or not I deal with them. It's just funny how though the whole thing is exactly what I wanted, yet it's also true that nothing this big and life-changing comes without some serious emotional processing and work. I'm 'in' though, so I know it will be ok!
xoxo, from my seemingly permanent position on my couch,