Annette: O.K. ...
as I have the most disconcerting habit of inadvertently scheduling
"medical” stuff back to back, I followed up Monday's awful mammogram—that left
me bruised and sore after I was twisted and pulled well beyond my range of
mobility—with another appointment yesterday. This one saw me forgoing mindfulness
about my health for an encounter with a Doctor that was cosmetically-motivated.
We have an extended vacation in San Diego and Las Vegas
approaching and I had determined that I needed to tackle the spider veins that
have begun to map themselves on my thighs. I don't have a lot of them but my
considerable vanity over what independent sources have deemed my well-turned
ankles saw the offending veins bother me in a manner disproportionate to their
appearance. Hence, I decided, after mulling it over on and off forever, to have
them removed via the injection of a solution that causes them to collapse and
fade away.
I checked the cost on the U.S. side of the border and
learned that a treatment was about $400.00 and that you need several. (Full disclosure:
I had this done after my son was born—22 years ago—and had not been troubled
until the last couple of years with their reappearance. But suffice to say, I
know the drill.) Put off by the significant expense, I decided to research what
it would cost in Canada and was thrilled to learn it would only be $70.00 per
session plus $50.00 for the original consultation as I no longer have Ontario
health insurance.
Which is how I came to find myself laying face-down, trying
not to put weight on my still-smarting and bruised right breast, on an
examining table with an ever-so-capable, twenty-five-years-experienced, Niagara
Falls, Ontario-based Doctor administering the first treatment of 50 injections
to my less-than-toned thighs...
Now I need to digress here for a minute and explain that
prior to the appointment I grabbed a late lunch in Ontario by way of killing
time before the encounter with our capable practitioner. If you've known me for
any length of time, you may recall that men who are down on their luck are
inflamed by the sight of me. Ever since I was a little girl, I've had them go
off ... totally off ... whenever I've so much as crossed their line of sight.
Long ago I gave up trying to understand it.
So yesterday, I was in a Tim Horton's, a phenomenally
popular chain of doughnut shops and as innocuous a location as you can imagine,
when I heard a commotion. I looked up from my egg salad sandwich and my clearly
provocative copy of the new Woman's Day and just had time to think "Oh
here we go!" before a homeless guy barged in shouting the odds, modified
with tons of profanity, having spotted the irritant that is me through the
plate glass. I was gathering my wits to shut him down when he spewed, "You
effin' little wh*re of sex toy!" So impressed was I with his dazzling
imagery, I almost bought him a coffee rather than giving him a taste of his own
verbal abuse but just made a quick escape instead.
But I return us now to the examining table ... I had failed
to recall that while most of the injections sting rather than hurt, a number of
them proved painful indeed. I tried unsuccessfully to keep count so I could
gauge when the unpleasantness might end while giving distracted thought as to
whether the ordeal would ultimately be worth it. I was musing over the whole “getting
older, expectations for women thing, our female reluctance to go
gently-into-that-good-night and its attendant pressure” while the Doctor
meanwhile busied himself ripping off huge strips of surgical tape which he used
to adhere a giant cotton ball, applied with considerable pressure, to each
injection site. When this, the first of three or four treatments ended, he
wrapped my now pulsating thighs in thick tensor band-aids leaving my legs,
under my trousers, looking as if one of Hollywood's best had fashioned me a fat
suit.
It was then I realized two things ... the tensor bandages
made it all but impossible to bend my knees, and also that surgical tape is
called that because it has a scalpel-like edge which will slice flesh quite
handily if you attempt to crook knees when they are wrapped in it. Now all of
this could have been put down to a painful lesson learned ... save for the
yet-to-come drive home which included a crossing at an International Border
heavily manned with people trained to look for the out-of-the ordinary ... say …
just as a for instance ... a woman wearing a from-the-waist-down fat suit who
can't bend her knees.
Swinging my legs the way you did when playing Monster with a
gleeful child, that is say tossing them in an arc to complete a step, I made my
way to my car. I have to tell you as I awkwardly endeavored to hoist myself
into my crossover vehicle, encumbered by my somewhat useless limbs, I did not
bear any resemblance to an "effin little wh*re of sex toy"! Nope ... I
did not! Further, I quickly realized that driving while unable to bend one's
knees is a challenge indeed. I had to
push the seat all the way back which left my arms completely straight. Picture
a stuffed animal with its permanent arms and legs extended pose and you'll get
the idea ... In addition to the disconcerting visuals and obvious safety
concerns, every depression of the gas pedal or brake caused the surgical tape
to behave like Christina on Grey's
Anatomy and slice with unencumbered delight deeply and decisively into my punctured
flesh.
At this point, the offending veins, in what I took to be some sort of an objection to the solution pulsing through them, began to burn as if gasoline was flowing through my circulatory system. And so it was that when I approached the border, my face was contorted in a combination mask of pain/feigned normalcy. (It had occurred to me upon approach that should the guards’ suspicions be raised, they would likely make me remove the bandages and that the fresh 'tracks' from fifty hypodermics would not win me any dispensation with those charged with protecting our borders.)
Sure enough, you'll be pleased to know that our tax dollars
have been spent such that the official took one look at me and, his expensive
training artfully serving him, asked me to exit the vehicle. "F*ck",
I whispered under my breath as I swung my tree trunks to the side and awkwardly
hopped out. I saw the young man cast a sidelong glance as he took in my
misshapen thighs and, after a moment's indecision, he did the kind thing and
searched the vehicle believing, I'm certain, that I had the worst case of
cellulite ever seen in Niagara county.
Finally, after hitting every red light therefore finding it
necessary to depress the brake constantly, I made it home where I just had to
kill time till 10 p.m. when I could remove the offending tensors. After some
experimentation, I found the least uncomfortable position was lying flat out on
the floor, which is how I spent the five hours, watching the clock the way you
do when you are in labor, until the bandaging could be removed. The removal of
that tape, with its glue that would probably hold stuff firm in a Level 4
hurricane, is yet another story, but allow me to say I hacked at it with
abandon using garden-shear sized scissors such was my desire to get it off me.
So ... what have we learned about vanity and the suffering
that we are willing to endure for it? Well, I can't speak for any of you … but
I might just start paying a bit more attention to Jamie Lee Curtis and her frequent
rants about her abhorrence for the artificial things women do in pursuit of
looking good as we age... “Might,” I say ... at least after my next three
treatments. Whatever thoughtful consideration I entertain though, I’ll certainly
be careful not to cross my milky-white, unlined thighs and risk causing fresh
spider veins while I do it!
To your days I leave you ... Fondly, Annette
Wow! What an experience. . . I don't know whether I should laugh or cry (or both).
ReplyDeleteAnnette that was an AMAZING STORY....I have no Idea how I should react !!! I mean so sorry you felt so much pain there....But Great attitude of turning all this into a less painful and entertaining story...!! All the best for the next 3 treatments !!!xoxo
ReplyDeleteLadies, laugh away...I certainly did! As for the discomfort, since I pride myself on being vain and shallow, sometimes that's just the price to be paid. And here's the thing...I'm beyond thrilled with my results to date. You bruise first and then the little lines fade to nothing...You can't argue with results! :)
ReplyDeletePerfectly Said...! Results count.....the discomfort lies in the past anyway.... So rather than crying about the discomfort...... LAUGH AWAY !!!!
DeleteLoved it Annette...REALLLY ! xoxo
i loved this. I am going to share a story in a minute. You have inspired me to share my story of plastic surgery gone wrong. I am glad your vanity was save. Mine not so much.
DeleteAnnette~ I have my appointment next week. I shall think of you... and smile ;)
ReplyDeletexoxoxo
Seana
What a story Annette made me wince, cry, and laugh all at the same time! It's funny how some of our worst moments when looked back on are the ones we can't help but laugh at. I was reminded of a story from my childhood which is one of the funniest I can recall that I thought I'd share.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was about 10 years old my Mothers biggest concession to her looks was contacts. This is back when there were no soft contacts and they were not quite as manageable as todays. She had a problem with them and both her corneas ended up scratched quite badly. So the 4 of us me, my Mom, Dad and brother had gone with her to a specialists office in Winnipeg.
Leaving she was had one eye covered in gauze and couldn't see worth a darn out of the other and so I led her, like a guide dog. I would bark once for step down and twice for up. So walking down a street in the middle of downtown Winnipeg was my brother in his wheelchair, my Dad who at that time walked with leg braces and a cane in a rather lurching gait, my mostly blind mother and a barking girl. Try to picture that for a moment and try not to laugh! I can only imagine the sight we were. Apparently the experience was too much for my Mother though as she never wore contacts again.
Erin, I'm certain we must have been separated at birth as this is the exact kind of story my family can lay claim to...Hilarious...I laughed well before you gave me permission too! :)
DeleteOh my god, sooooo funny, Erin!! I mean, "I wanna use this in film scene funny", you know!
DeleteOk, for full disclosure I am sharing a story about my venture in plastic surgery. Here it is.
ReplyDeleteMy body was telling me to change it and my mind concurred. It was all about positive body image and how much my stomach bothered me. I decided to go for it. I had had a breast reduction but that was actually covered by insurance because of a dramatic size difference at age 57 and I had issues with always adjusting my breasts to have the nipples even. Come on I was born and raised in LALA land. A small hole developed but eventually healed with not much concern. No one had any idea why it happened and thought it was a total fluke. Two years later I was ready to fulfill my adult dream of having a flat stomach.
My passage through plastic surgery didn't work like I had planned or dreamed. After I had my kids at age 22 and 24 I spent time working on all those stomach muscles to make the area flat. I remember going to Weight Watchers after my youngest son was 8 years old and told people that I was losing the baby fat from my son. They laughed when I said he was 8. But the truth was my stomach bothered me a lot. I tried exercising, sit ups and also sorts of activities still had the fat layer and the stretched skin and the flabby skin. You know the muffin tops. And now that my breasts were back where they should be I wanted the stomach gone. Or my notions of what appeared to me as a crucial flaw. Of course, did I give up eating sweets, of which chocolate was my downfall, absolutely not. I had always been thin and in high school and at my wedding I was 100 pounds. I thought I looked good in clothes but naked it bothered me as the skin flapped over. Especially if I wanted to be on top I needed to lose this flapping skin. One guy who was rude mentioned it to me but he was quickly set aside and from that point on all my lovers couldn't have cared less. I had wanted this fixed for 35 years and at the age of 59 I decided I was going to have a tummy tuck. Most of my friends and even my boyfriend had tried to dissuade me but I was determined. I knew a couple people who had had it and looked fabulous although most in their 30's after they were through having kids. I had the money and the time to recover so I thought I would treat myself for once rather than doing for others I would take care of me. I was not nervous at all and predicted a successful outcome.
To be continued
I had the surgery and after the 24 hours in the hospital I paid a small fortune to go to one of these aftercare places that movie stars go to. I felt really great and was ready to leave and did when things started to go downhill fast. I noticed that part of my skin started to die around where the old belly button had been. They make a new one for you because the spot where it was before the surgery was taken off and the skin pulled down and stitched across. The stitching held fine and started to heal. However the skin above the stitches in a round circle started to become discolored and was forming a hole the size of a golf ball. I didn't panic but was wondering what to do as the skin pulled farther and farther apart. My plastic surgeon had not seen this happen in 35 years of practice. She was saddened as she had been the one to do my breast reduction and now I had 2 of the 5 wounds ever in her practice that were her patients and not ones sent to her for scar revision. She was the doctor all the doctors used when things went terribly wrong. Now I was a statistic. As my worry increased and I saw the wound getting worse and worse I began to think of alternatives when I mentioned the hyperbaric chamber. I was an alternative type of person. I believed in acupuncture and had used eastern and western medicine for other things. I had heard that hyperbarics had helped with wounds (which mine was now classified as). I went to the UCLA Gonda Hyperbaric Center to have an evaluation. After looking at me the doctors concurred that 10 treatments would do the trick. I found out they tell everyone that when in fact no one knows how many treatments are needed. I needed to go back to my surgeon so she could take off all the dead skin and go back down to the muscle. It was weird to watch this as my stomach was totally numb still from the surgery one month before so no anesthetic was needed. My golf ball sized hole quickly became a tennis ball size. It was weird to see the muscle and all the layers of decrepit skin and viscous junk inside one's own body. I had always loved doctor shows and ER shows on TV but this was me now not some stranger.
ReplyDeleteIt was off to the hyperbaric chamber the day following the mini cleanup.
ReplyDeleteThe hyperbaric chamber holds up to 16 people. It looks like a submarine inside and out. The principle theory was that you simulated diving and when you get to the level you need to be at you sit for 90 minutes with an oxygen helmet on your head which latches at your shoulders. You breathe pure oxygen for 30 minutes with a 5 minute rest where you can take off your helmet and scratch your face and head then back on for another 30 , 5 minutes off and then another 30 minutes. There are no bathrooms inside period but in an emergency you can use one of those bedpans they give you in the hospital. And if you have to shit you can go between the two chambers and still use a bedpan.I vowed that it would never happen to me. I would stop eating and drinking the night before the treatments. I would start thinking about not having to go to the bathroom and ate no food that cause one to piss or shit. You can't wear any makeup or jewelry or perfume. You wear scrubs and tennis shoes. There is one person who controls the inside of the chamber and two people on the outside. It takes about 10-15 minutes to get to the level of depth that you need to be at for the oxygen to work at it's maximum level for wounds. They pipe in music you can even bring your own cd's and you can even read thru the helmet or write. The helmet I must explain. It looked like a big astronaut helmet with plastic all around it and these two neck locks (circular). They put on the first one and then locked the helmet with another ring into the existing one. A big hose came out and was connected to the oxygen connector. You sat on seats like a bus or could lay down if their was no one near you. Some days it was more crowded than others so I got adjusted to sitting or laying down to read. I am a talker so the real interesting part for me was hearing the stories from the other people in the chamber for 90 minutes. You form your own community in there because 1. you are trapped, 2 You want to stay busy so you don't have to go to the bathroom (I never wanted to fall asleep for fear I would have to go upon waking) and 3. The time goes faster while chatting. You can't bring in any electronics. They only have two treatment times so you are with the same people each day Monday -Friday. There are divers, people recovering from amputations, people who had carbon monoxide poisoning and people so sick on gurneys (they wheel them right in) and various other wounds that were complications from diabetes or accidents.
As it turned out 10 times barely scratched the surface as my wound continued to expand. After the first 10 more were added to my schedule. They never told you ahead of time as I think people would be so depressed and just walk away. I was ready to be finished but the wound was not finished closing and so more treatments were added and a wound vac was add as well.. This is a small vacuum machine that sucks the wound closed. It whirls and makes swooshing noises so going to the movies or anywhere quiet was out and sex is an issues as well so that was curtailed for the two months of wound vac and most of the months it took to heal. I had to wear that for two months strapped to my body. 15, 20, 25 treatments were added. People were getting well (the carbon monoxciders) as that was a short treatment of one - 3 treatments, some died and some just couldn't take it and some actually got better. Finally after 27 weeks I was finished. I continued to go to the center for months afterwards until the wound closed for good. It was quite the ordeal but in the end I have a scar the size of a tennis ball and it looks like I was shot in my stomach. I wish I could tell people that it was something truly exciting and dangerous that sent me there but I just said plastic surgery gone wrong.
ReplyDeleteI must say the actual experience was amazing and I learned that plastic surgery should be done when one is young if at all and maybe the outcome would have been different. Today I have a flat stomach with two bulges on the ends where the wound has formed scar tissue and won't allow the whole stomach area to lie flat. Am I better for it, I know yes because the whole time I knew I was going to be okay. I would not die from this, I wouldn't get sick from this and I would recover. I was the wellest person in the chamber. I was the hit of the unit as I kept everyone laughing and told stories as did the others. I knew none of these people would be lifelong friends except for the staff which have all connected on Facebook but for my 9 weeks we were family. One side note. I was so anxious I went in the chamber with a sinus issue which made my ear canal clog and I had to have tubes put in my ears by the ENT which is another whole story. Suffice it to say my hearing became so acute for 9 weeks I was ready to have the tubes removed the day I was finished and assured I would not need them anymore.
It has been three years and I am doing well. Some of the people in my chamber treatment didn't make it, Their wounds were too severe and their diabetes and various other ailments were too overwhelming for their bodies to survive. So sad really as I watched them deteriorate right before my eye. One kid was only 16 and deathly ill. I had guilt for me and my idea of the perfect body and he just trying to save his limbs.
I can now laugh about all the adventures but at the time I just tried to stay positive and live my life as normally as I could during this experience. My friends were pissed at me for doing it at all so not much sympathy came my way. I learned to respect my body in a totally different way and now when the surgeon wants to do a scar revision I look at her and say happily NO.
I might say I look great in clothes with a flat stomach but undressed it looks like I was shot with a bullet that exploded in the middle of my lower stomach area measuring about 4 inches long and 3 inches high and is so tight that the scar tissue actually hurts when my stomach and bowels fill up. Of course that is just my interpretation.
ReplyDeleteMadgew, so glad it all worked out, in that you recovered, in the end. I can't believe your ordeal...Driving home with stiff knees doesn't begin to compare. Annette
DeleteOh Madge, wow. That is one amazing story -- I was on the edge of my seat the whole time I was reading! Thank god it all turned out okay. But I still have to wonder why your body seems prone to these weird holes after surgery? Is this something that has a medical reason? Or just a strange fluke??? Thanks so much for your honest sharing!!
DeleteI'm glad that all's well that ended. (Yeah, I know well is supposed to be at the end of that, but just to have it all end had to be a relief for you!)
DeleteReading about your experience solidifies in my mind what I always believed about elective surgery for myself: I won't get it. I have had type I diabetes for 30+ years. My ability to heal is compromised and, reading this, whoa. I'd be in the chamber trying to find the funny and heal as well. Better to avoid the whole experience.
Great post.
ReplyDeleteOh these stories! I'm in my forties...I had one surgery when I was five (I still miss my tonsils). I hope to never need surgery! I'm learning to love my body. I named my spider veins after my kids, who helped create them. I've been collecting grey hairs atop my head since I was 30. I can store extra pencils in my belly flap when I'm out of pockets. I count liver spots when I can't sleep. I have nice elbows.
ReplyDeleteI just laughed SO HARD at this!!!! :D
DeleteMe too!!! Eileen, you made my day!
DeleteWhen I'm bra-less, I can carry pencils, branches, LOGS... you name it, I got enough sagging over to hang on to it.
DeleteFunny.
DeleteWell that's it, you two (Annette, Madge), I am just going to resign myself to my physical "imperfections" because there is no way I could with ANY kind of humour handle what you experienced. Much rather chuckle at YOUR discomfort, thank ye kindly. OY.
ReplyDeleteBesides, if I'm lucky I'm going to keep getting older for a good long time yet. It's going to be a neverending slide into visible cronery and bydammit, I'm going to learn to embrace it! Yes! I LOVE those baggy pouches under my eyes, the drooping eyelids, the wobbly doolap (?) yet receding double chin, the crowsfeet, the cellulite on my thighs, the belly fat, the pear-shaped tits. YEAH!!! Might just get rid of the mirrors in my house.
Till (if) it gets painful. Then I'll go crying to the doctor for surgery, drugs, ANYTHING!!
Question is: can we get to a place where we might maybe possibly actually truly love these parts of ourselves??? I so badly want to say Yes!
DeleteWell I've got to a place where I feel a sort of gentle humorous affection for them ... so there can be progress from chagrin and self-rejection, this we know. I am determined to accept myself as I am, and I mean to get there.
DeleteOy, sounds miserable, at least it was memorable! :)
ReplyDeleteMy mother got a nose job six years ago when we lived in California, I remember the days after the procedure it looked like she had two black eyes and this odd metal/paper mache like thing on her nose. I was eleven and actually scared of her when I would bring her dinner (she had to stay in bed for several days). My upbeat, optimistic, beautiful mother had been replaced with a bedridden, runaway swamp creature with a broken nose and a short fuse...
Ahem, I loved this post, Annette! You have such a gift for writing :D
Hannah-Elizabeth, Many thanks for your kind compliment about my writing. Truly appreciated. Funnily enough, my daughter, who was an All-Star Cheerleader, when we first moved to the U.S. suffered a terrible injury during a competition that required plastic surgery to reconstruct her face. Among other injuries incurred when the flyer fell and landed on her face, her nose was broken in six places so I am familiar with your mom's surgery. Today's chit-chat about vanity aside, I'll never forget how grateful I was when they removed the bandages, a mere week after this comprehensive plastic surgery, and there was my child and her almost-imperceptibly restored face. I believed in miracles then...
DeleteAnnette -- I had no idea!! Never heard this story. What a terrible shock that must have been. Can't believe hope sprang after only a week. And look at what a beauty she is today.
DeleteBarb, Hayden was a backspot and when the flyer, the girl who stands atop the mount, fell, she kicked back and hit Hayden just above the eyebrow splitting it. Hayden, who couldn't see because blood was gushing into her eyes, went over backward and the flyer landed on her face. So basically a hundred pounds dropped from over five feet was absorbed by her face. I was in the stands and by the time I got to her, her nose was completely mashed into her face. We can laugh about it now...as you know we do love to laugh at the blackness...but when I approached, having not yet seen her injury, I heard her say to the EMT's, "Is my nose broken? Can it be fixed?" at which point they, trying to keep her calm kinda dismissed her question with a " Ah..we don't know" at which point she yelped,totally in shock, "Listen, I am ugly because I'm not normally ugly. Her nose and a couple of other bones took the brunt of it and it all had to be surgically reconstructed the next day. She made her confirmation the following week and was scheduled to speak which we cancelled thinking she wouldn't be able to attend. The doc took her bandages of a day early to see if she could and lo and behold...almost exactly as she was. You'd have to be us to spot the difference. It really was a miracle.
DeleteWhat an ordeal! So glad you could laugh about it, though :)
ReplyDeleteCellulite was mentioned in a few of the stories so I thought I'd say that I actually have a recipe for an all-natural anti-cellulite cream. I have absolutely no idea if it works, but anyone who wants it can just ask!
Asking!!!!! Please....
DeleteI'd love it if you let me know how this goes :)
DeleteI assume that this is one of those things that could take several months to take effect, but like I said, I've actually got no idea if it is good or not :P
85ml Grapeseed Oil
5ml Wheatgerm Oil
15 Drops Juniper Berry pure essential oil
15 Drops Lemon pure essential oil
10 Drops Fennel pure essential oil
5 Drops Cypress pure essential oil
5 Drops Rosemary pure essential oil
Combine all of the ingredients and botlle them in a dark glass bottle. Shake before using it and the rub it into the cellulite affected areas. Do it twice daily. Drink lots of water for best effect.
Good luck!
Actually right next to it is a recipe for stretch marks, too. I might try it myself, if it's not too expensive. And I can share it with anyone who wants it :)
DeleteThank you, Aimee!
DeleteWow. I'm glad you guys survived through all that. I have friends who talk about wanting cosmetic surgery. I've been in and out of hospitals most of my life for various surgeries and I'll tell you I'll never have surgery again unless it's an emergency. Anybody who doesn't like my wrinkly old face can kiss my wrinkly old butt. ;)
ReplyDeletehugs, Karen
You, my dear, are a girl after my own heart.
DeleteI agree!
DeleteThey never found out the reason. I think it was some type of circulation issue when skin is taken off the blood supply and laid back down. The pathways are suppose to continue supplying the blood and mine didn't. As I said my doctor had never experienced this type of reaction in her entire practice and she is in her late 50's early 60's.
ReplyDeleteAnnette, picturing you at the border, with the poor guard glancing sideways at you... I must admit, my stomach muscles got their exercise tonight. I'm happy the results made you happy.
ReplyDeleteI used to think about having my nose "lessened." I decided not to when I saw pics of my dad's mother and brother and realized that I have the Doucette nose of her French heritage. I now wear the family "emblem" with pride. :)
And yes, my dad bears the emblem, as well. :)
DeleteAnd grey hair is just free silver highlights!
DeleteDawn, as they so often are,the border guard was only a kid...maybe like 21...and you could tel he was calculating what following up on his instincts might cost him. Thankfully for me, his work ethic was such that he just couldn't face what he might have found under the fabric. I love your free silver hightlights too! :)
DeleteI felt so sorry for you...but since you wrote your experience so brilliantly, I couldn't help myself but laugh.
ReplyDeleteI hope you're fine now.
Spider veins...they're called broom twigs (Besenreiser)..something like that? in German.
And...aaaah, don't talk about Tim Horton's....makes me crave so much for a donut right now! :/
I was just gonna pop in for second and see what you all are talking about but just had to thank Annette for the laugh, it was great. I am sorry for your pain though. I'm in the middle of packing a five room place all by myself and have already been at it for days. But anyway just wanted to say hello, I miss our "Talks" and hope to get caught up once the move is complete and my computer is set up in it's new place
ReplyDelete<<>>>>