So many people, literally thousands (OK i’m exaggerating) but enough have asked me if I’m going to have surgery when I reach my goal weight.
I’ve honestly not thought about it, I’m just going to be slim, gorgeous and look much like I did when I was 21 after all… aren’t I?
Oh sh*t, I’m not am I? These people who ask me about surgery know it, and I was oblivious to it, I really thought I was just going to be rejuvenated but I’m facing the fact that I’m not, I’m just going to be the same age as now but thinner… maybe more wrinkled, maybe a little baggy in places. But NO! I’m not, I’m going to shrink perfectly back to the soft, smooth peachy skin I had last time I was slim. Yeah right… well I can try but that was 20 odd years ago.
I’m going to look healthier, my skin is already in better shape than it was a few months ago, I’m all shiny and glowing and healthy and I do look younger (I think you can get to a point where being fat stops making you look younger and starts to age you and I was at that point).
Surgery? Hmmm, not something I’ve thought about. I must say I’m doing all I can to stop my skin sagging, a reason I’m glad to have slowed my weight loss and a thought which consoles me when I had become so used to those large numbers. It’s a really useful justification for not going hell for leather and shedding 5 or 7 pounds a week. This moderate 1-2lb pace my skin can cope with.
Anyway I’m doing all I can to stop my skin sagging because I have consciously thought that I don’t want surgery but I’ve never thought consciously about wanting it. Now I’m thinking might I?
What if I do have this lovely rejuvenated super shiny skinned toned body and my boohoobas are tripping me up? What if I do lose substance? I don’t care so much now. These milking machines have given life and health to my beautiful children, they were worth a bit of sag and droop. But how will I feel about the sag and droop if it worsens… at the minute some of my exercise has had the positive effect of lifting, by no means to their former pert glory but that’s something I accepted years ago as part of motherhood and i saw my changed body as an accomplished self satisfied smug child bearing machine which proudly bore its scars. I’m not sure I’m going to see it any less than that when I get to the end of this path I tread. But might I? When I get there my babies will be adults and the days of engorged cabbage leaved boobs will be well and truly consigned to history, I’ll be on a new phase of existence, one where my kids are grown and I’m not so in demand and consciously 24/7 a mum? Does that day come ever? If so does it make it easier to have those memoires of child rearing nipped and tucked out of existence?
What if I don’t manage to lose all of the belly and some jiggles just above the C-section scars and makes a bid for freedom out of bikini briefs if I move too swiftly? What if my many fold chins leave me eventually with a turkey neck, they’re retracting well so far but what if?
And what of my face? I’ve noticed of late a definite downward droop, very slight at the sides of my mouth where the years of smiling, chomping on food and chattering have worn the muscles to shreds and they are now giving up on me, a bit like the elastic on the knickers of a woman with a weak bladder.
Hmmm, what if? Would I go under the knife? I really don’t think so, I really think at this point in the journey, about half way through, I’m happy with the progress and whilst I am under no illusion that various parts of me are suddenly going to levitate I am happy with my battle scars. I’m happy to have a bit of inevitable wear and tear. I’m not far off 50 and I’ll be closer to it by the time I’m ‘done’. I think I can cope with what I’m going to be left with.
Why people automatically think I’m going to have a boob job (that’t the one they mention most often) I don’t know. None of the people who mention it have had a boob job and they’re around my age, why should I want one just because I’ve lost weight. I ask them if they want one and most of them ‘do but daren’t’. I’m not a big fan of the thought of having bags of some fluid or whatever the heck they whack in there stuck inside my body to be honest. But each to their own.
The one I find myself struggling with though is the face lift… now I think I could maybe go for that, but then I definitely couldn’t in the next minute, then I think maybe, then no again, then i ask myself why I’d be doing it and I don’t know so I say no again, then maybe again.
Then I wonder am I thinking like this because of my diminishing size or would I be thinking of it anyway because of my increasing age? Age is beautiful though. It’s earned. Do i want to cheat myself of something I’ve earned?
I asked my son, shall I get a face lift he said “Get one of those and I’m disowning you because you will look terrifying, they all do”
I asked Nick should I have surgery and he said “I’d rather you were just you, I’m hoping you still have some wiggle and juggle going on somewhere”
I asked my daughter and she sighed and hung up the phone on me.
Did I mention my supportive, loving family before?
Anyone else contemplating this stuff? Thoughts? Anyone been there, done that and got the new bits in their tee shirt?