Plastic. When you hear that word, what comes to mind? Fake. Phony. Non-Recyclable. Recyclable. Processed. Made-Up. Not real. The list goes on and on.
But when the word is coupled with surgery? We are talking a whole different ballgame. And maybe a visual of Pamela Anderson quickly runs through your mind.
Many years ago I thought that plastic surgery was a four letter word. I was vehemently opposed to it and thought that anyone who had it done was, well, plastic. And many of the other words mentioned in the beginning of this story. In short, I harshly judged all those who went under the knife for the sheer purpose of supposed vanity.
I struggled a lot with the concept because I am a Christian and felt like the two things were diametrically opposed. In fact, I remember finding out that a well-known Bible study teacher I admired had a face lift and it forever altered (pardon the pun) the way I viewed her.
Like so many other situations in my life, I was forced to eat my judgments when I became one of "those" people. I cannot tell you how many times this has happened to me in my life, but I certainly don't want to go into the sordid details here. Suffice it to say that whenever I have said "Never" in my life and when I have judged others for doing something, more times than not my "Nevers" have become "Always" and my judgmental attitude has come back to bite me on the ass.
Now I had to add plastic surgery to the ever growing list.
In my defense (as if I have one), I was not the one who initiated the idea. After giving birth three times, I was on the verge of being completely flat-chested. I was never well endowed, but I was a healthy B cup before having my first child. After growing tired of hearing how I couldn't even fill out an A cup bra, my husband suggested I get breast implants. At first I hemmed and hawed, saying it was not for me and only vain people did that. And what about the cost of a procedure? I had more arguments against it than OJ's lawyers had about the glove.
Conveniently, my husband knew a daughter of a plastic surgeon so I ended up going to him for a consultation. He was nice enough and quite reasonable, compared to the other surgeons I had called.
So I bit the proverbial bullet.
My biggest fear was the potential legacy I would leave behind. Oh, not about what people would think about me or how I, too, may be judged. I was afraid that I would die on the operating table and my kids would have to explain to friends that their mom passed away while getting a boob job. I am not kidding, this kept me up at night. It was really the only concern I had. I was naive about how long the recovery process would take or how much pain I would have. I was simply terrified that I would leave my children without a mother, all because I was insecure about my body and completely devastated by the fact I could not fill out a bathing suit without extreme padding.
After the surgery, I remember waking up in the operating room and feeling elated that I woke up! Even though I was still quite groggy and quite high from the drugs they gave me, I knew enough to know I had made it through. I have never been so excited about waking up. I even said, to all who would listen, how happy I was to be awake and to have survived the surgery. They probably all thought it was the drugs talking, but I was seriously jubilant!
Then one hurdle was replaced by one I had not given much thought to: the recovery process. Like everything else in life, no one ever tells you how difficult it will be. Thank God my doctor would only prescribe Percocet for a few weeks or I would have become a drug addict. Seriously. For me, the pain was that bad.
I joined an online "support" community for women who had breast augmentation and you would have thought I was the only one who struggled with pain. First, all the women seemed much younger than me. Second, they all seemed to quickly rebound, returning to work and other activities within a day or two. I was in serious pain for over a month. And I wanted them to be too. Misery loves miserable company right?
Eventually the pain went away and I loved the way I looked and felt. I didn't have to wear a bra all the time and I could wear almost anything I wanted. It was glorious! Better than that, I was humbled and didn't judge people anymore because now I had walked in their shoes. I don't agree with those who are addicted to plastic surgery, though. Just like anything else, too much of a good thing can be bad.
Looking back, I have no regrets. Would I do it again, knowing what I know now? Yes, I would. What about having additional work done in the future, like a face lift or other cosmetic surgery? Probably not, but I try not to say "Never" anymore.
After all, we know where that gets me.