Be advised that there is not much you can do to beat the pain. Pain, hell yeah, it can give any self-styled masochist a run for his money. How did I, then, survive a mommy makeover? By sheer good fortune and karma. Here’s how my ordeal began.
I went to Tijuana for my mommy makeover in Mexico because I couldn’t have afforded it in California. Yes, I’m one of the 62% moms from American Society of Plastic Surgeons survey who would consider a mommy makeover only if cost wasn’t an issue. Call me vain, I don’t mind, because my abdominal hernias needed a surgical intervention and the muscles could do with some tucking up.
Although I had apprehensions about the level of professionalism and quality on the other side of the border, I was gawping with surprise at my plastic surgeon’s facility. I patted myself on the back for choosing this particular hospital in Tijuana. My fingers were crossed about the skills of the surgeon.
Truth be told, my surgeon did warn me about the excruciating pain for at least three days and that I’d come to hate him. My conceit prevented me from weighing the gravity in his cautionary words. “What could be worse than throes of labour?” I thought. I was dead wrong. He also warned me about complications such as hematoma or collection of blood under the skin. “I’ll deal with it…bring it on,” I told my surgeon. I wasn’t going empty handed from Mexico.
After the surgery, I wake up to a pain that can be best described as Satan lashing your run-over-by-a-truck tummy. Those three days on the hospital bed, were my worst nightmare. It felt like a fever dream. I swear I could do with some morphine.
I travel back to United States a day after I got discharged. The two weeks that followed weren’t any better. I hated myself for not being able to leave the bed and spend quality time with my kids. I tried reading, I tried watching TV. Nothing worked. It’s hard to concentrate with barbs under your skin. Try deep breathing at your own risk. It feels as if your sutures will come off any instant to reveal all the abomination inside.
Two weeks later, the drains were off. I started to walk about the house but it was a lot of discomfort. The daze from sedatives made me see black if my heart rate went up. I couldn’t go on without resting often. I was happy for whatever locomotion my tummy tuck afforded after almost 18 days. Life began to look normal again, however little.
It’s only after six weeks that I felt like myself again. The results were amazing. I loved my new self. I was excited to try all the clothes that I had abandoned. And not to mention, my lingerie collection. My husband lit up every time I walked past and passed those unmentionable lusty remarks.
I couldn’t be happier. The pain was worth it.