So I thought a little anniversary update might be in order.
My final follow-up with the doctor was last January. The nurse asked me if any stitches were coming out. I told her those were all taken out in December. She explained that sometimes internal stitches make their way to the surface and will begin to protrude through the incision.
Well, THAT'S not going to happen because Jesus loves me.
So when the doctor came in to look at my incision and said, "You've got stitches coming out," I questioned my entire existence. Again.
Two nights later, while climbing out of the bath, (note that all bad tummy tuck related incidents happen after bathing), what appeared to be a knotted piece of white fishing wire had broken through my incision. Enter Ron armed with a pair of tweezers, scissors and a manic grin on his face. When he asked if I thought I would "actually pass out" if he just kept pulling the stitch until it broke off or if it would open my incision like a zipper, I explained that the future of our marriage rested solely on this moment.
I'm still trying to forgive him for the delay as he mentally weighed the risk and reward before quickly and uneventfully snipping it off while Caymen watched. Oh the things our children see around here.
But that was the last of my recovery drama.
The surgery had it's desired effect. I'm still not miraculously a size 4, but I don't have to debate whether to button my jeans over or under my roll anymore, either. I still face a life long battle of a love for food, an addiction with the scale and a compulsion to exercise, but it is what it is.
I still don't have much feeling, especially around and below my belly button. Which, speaking of the new belly button, nobody is allowed to touch it, pretend to touch it or talk about touching it, and Zac describes it as "That things not natural." I consider that my penance for ruining the one God gave me.
And while we're on the topic of that's not natural, my emotional attachment to the velcro girdle lasted through May. I thought I could do without it for a weekend away in April, but ended up in a full blown anxiety attack that finally ended when Ron wrapped a towel around my midsection and squeezed me. That gesture speaks to his unconditional love for me, which makes it easier to overlook him saying, "You know you're a freak, right?" while we stood swaying in the hotel bathroom.
Side note; much to our surprise we were informed by our accountant that my procedure qualified as an out of pocket medical expense and we claimed it on our taxes, so I guess you could say it was tucks deductible.
Barring any unforeseen freak of nature surprises, this should conclude the Tucks Series which works out well because I've run out of ways to inappropriately use the word tuck.
If my doctor noticed a decrease in business because of me, I offer my deepest apologies. But if he happened to gain some new patients and would like to offer me a discount on a couple of implants, I'd be more than happy to blog that experience and do my best to rack him up some more.
Stay tuned, because just maybe, the breast is yet to come...
Your final look at my new stomach...unless of course you ask to see it, in which case, I'll apparently whip up my shirt and happily oblige.