Dear Diary: What My Doctor Never Told Me About Liposuction

Writing this book has been a very essential part of my recovery.  Except for my son, doctor, and finally, my Mom, there was no one I had chosen to confide in.  Putting my own experiences down on paper gave me a chance to not only relive the experience and face the uncertainties, but to understand my motivation for doing it.  Writing this book was an emotional lifeline for me and it’s been a wonderful outlet.

Also, where else could I have expressed the joy of going from a size 22 to 16 in two months?  Since no one knew I had the surgery, this book was the one place where I could shout.

This book was also written with others in mind.  There may be those who felt as I did.  They’ve secretly dreamed of undergoing the procedure because they were just as unhappy with certain aspects of their bodies as I was.  They’ve squirreled away some money in the hopes that one day they might also take the next step.  There are also those who have taken that step.  I hope my words help someone else who’s alone with their thoughts and pain as I’ve been, give them a much needed mental hug, and let them know that someone else had undergone what they are considering or are now enduring.  At those times, when I was most vulnerable, I kept telling myself that there would be people reading my words and saying to themselves, "This is normal.  Kathyne went through this too, so I won’t worry."

Am I am glad I did it? 

Would I do it again? 

Kathyne L. Jackson has been writing since junior high school.  A freelanced writer, she is a published poetess, songwriter, and mystery novelist.  She loves to travel and is the owner of a small internet business.  She lives in Maryland with her two children and is working on her next mystery.

I’m awake.  I’m exhausted and have been dozing in and out for the past ten hours.  I can’t get comfortable enough to sleep.  It’s been sixteen hours since my surgery.  I’m still on the sofa.  I just knew I could have slept in my bed tonight.  If I had stayed in the hospital, I would have been in a nice, comfy bed.  Here, at home, after the incident with the bloody footprints and the blood-soaked pads, there was no way I was going to put my butt in my bed.  Not until the drainage had definitely stopped.

So, here I am.  Still draining.  Still alone.  Still scared.  Still on the sofa.  Still size 22.

Monday, 6/17 @ 11:30 a.m.

THE GARMENT IS MY FRIEND:  Today was the first time I could finally take the garment off.  It’s been more than forty-eight hours since surgery and the drainage had definitely stopped.  The doctor told me to wait for both.  I removed the garment and gauze pads while standing in front of a full-length mirror, anxious to see the result of liposuction.  Realistically, I knew it was too soon to see results.  Emotionally, I couldn’t wait.  Physically, my first sensation was of excruciating pain.  At that moment, I understood why they required the garment remain on after surgery.  It was the only thing that kept my body together.   

I had already taken a pill an hour ago, and the medicine was still working.  Yet, I still felt pain.  When I finally got the garment off, I was shocked.  Forget about the pain.  That wasn’t it.  It was because of the look of my skin.

Sunday, 7/7 @ 3:00 p.m.

My son stopped by the house today.  It’s the last day of the Independence Day weekend.  I wore blue jeans and a large size T-shirt.  We were talking about nothing and everything when suddenly, he said, "Wow!"  I looked around to see what he was talking about. 

"What are you talking about?" I asked. 

"I’m talking about you.  I can really tell the difference.  You look good!" 

Of course, I had to pose.  One hand went up into the air and the other went onto my hips, which I casually shifted to the left.  A smile formed on my lips that eight hours later was still there.

Friday, 7/26 @ 6:05 p.m.

Tomorrow is my birthday.  I decided to treat myself to a new pair of jeans.  I headed to the mall.  I took a pair of size 18 in black and, as a lark, a pair of size 16, to the dressing room.  I stepped into the size 18 and pulled them up.  To my surprise, they slid up to my thighs, around my hips, and easily snapped into place.  I was delighted.  Then I eyed the size 16 jeans.  They easily slid on, too.  Within four minutes, I was standing in front of the cashier with a credit card in one hand and the size 16 black jeans in the other.  Happy birthday to me!