Some time ago I read about a Relief Society presidency that actually had to debate over whether or not to take food in to a sister in their ward—a sister under their stewardship—who was recovering from surgery. Why the big to-do? Because her surgery had been “elective.”
Today I express my gratitude to three very brave women who have agreed to share their own very personal stories on the subject of so-called “elective” or “cosmetic” surgery. I bring you their stories not because I am an advocate for any procedure, but because I believe in agency.
My hope is that sharing stories will build a bridge of understanding between women who don’t simply have differing opinions, but who also have different experiences. And perhaps one less sister will have to hide her choice or her recovery from her visiting teachers, her Relief Society presidency or her friends.
I
I had a breast augmentation. I did it because I wanted to feel and look more like a woman. Having always been completely flat chested, I had always wanted one. But I grew up thinking that anyone who did such things would go straight to hell. I know better now and I can say it’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I’d been married for about three years when I decided to look into the surgery. My husband was concerned with my safety, but during our initial appointment our questions were answered and his mind was at ease. As soon as the doctor put the gel insert in my bra I took one look in the mirror and wanted to march right down to the OR right then; but I had to wait for two weeks.
I was most nervous to tell my parents, my in-laws and one of my sisters, but I was surprised at how well it went. My mom had a few questions, but that was it. My dad doesn’t like to talk about female things, so he didn’t say anything. I made my husband tell my mother-in-law. She couldn’t believe I would do such a thing. It was easy for her though, since she and all my sisters-in-law are very well endowed. I think that was why my mother understood even when my mother-in-law could not.
As the surgery date approached, I was quite nervous. I was afraid if this were a bad choice I would probably die right there on the operating table. My husband, however, kept reassuring me that everything would be fine. On the day of the surgery my doctor came in and told me he liked to have a prayer with his patients before surgery. He prayed that all would go well and that I would be blessed with a complete recovery. That put my mind at ease.
My recovery went well after the first 24-hours, during which the pain meds made me sick to my stomach. After that I could hardly wait to go bra shopping—this time for a bra with an actual cup size. Three days later I did and for the first time ever I found bra shopping to be fun instead of humiliating. Victoria’s Secret was awesome!
I still don’t feel comfortable telling people about my surgery. One of my friends from high school was actually offended when I told her. But I do love to sit in on discussions in which women start talking about “What kind of woman would get a boob job?” I think to myself, “You have no idea. Women like me, a mom with five kids, who can finally wear a swimsuit without feeling self-conscious.” In fact, I kind of get excited about the whole thing. If any of my girls end up like me and one day wants to do the same thing, I will support her in her choice, be there for her and take care of her kids during the recovery.
II
In the past 6 weeks, I’ve lost 14 pounds and 7 inches. I cut out all soda, most sweets, upped my protein and lowered my carb intake. I am eating consciously and healthily for the first time in years. So why am I not shouting this from the streets? Because of this: Six weeks ago I had lap band surgery.
Lap band surgery is by no means a cure for being overweight. I spent over a year researching everything I could about the procedure. I knew if I were going to spend thousands of dollars out-of-pocket, I’d better be well informed. I studied people who’ve had the procedure and read about what worked and what didn’t. After much prayer, research and talks with my family, I decided to go for it. I realize losing weight will be something I struggle with my entire life. But for the first time, I feel hopeful and in control.
Why am I afraid to share this information? I realized the only people I’ve shared this with have met a certain criteria: a). they are close family or b). they have struggled with weight themselves. My family is awesome, supportive and encouraging. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. The only others I’ve told are friends I know who have all struggled with weight loss. I have several thin friends who have never struggled with their weight. How could I begin to explain to them why I chose to have such a drastic procedure? I hear the words in my head now. “Just go to the gym”, “Join Weight Watchers”, or my favorite “You look fine.” (Please do not ever tell me I look fine. Its like saying “you look completely nondescript.”)
I realize I am judging thin people just as I fear they would judge me. Why do we do that? I am discriminating over whom I tell by how they look. When I discovered this prejudice, I started to wonder about other areas of my life in which I might judge others by thinking that they will judge me. I have to say, I didn’t like what I what I discovered.
So for the New Year, my goal will be to work on my own judgments. Really accept people, not by what I think they will do, but by who they really are.
III
When I exercise outside I don’t listen to music; I use that time to commune (with nature and with my thoughts) and to pray. One late spring day this year, as I was running on my favorite road (I know the exact spot), adoring the mountains, I was stopped in my tracks by a bolt of inspirational direction: “Your knees won’t hold out. You need to do something more or you won’t be able to do anything at all.” More? What more could I do? I had been exercising regularly, eating healthily, and working hard with a personal trainer. I had already participated in one triathlon a few weeks earlier and was preparing for the next one. Still, I was well aware that my knees creaked even walking up the stairs, and as I worked my muscles in training I often thought of the load around my waist and the strain that it must be putting on my legs, specifically my knees. One measure, considered in most circles to be extreme, to remedy this problem had come into my mind, but only casually. I thought if I ever went in that direction it would be way off in the future.
Or maybe not so far off.
When I got home I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, closed the door behind me, and knelt down beside my bed. “Heavenly Father, I heard that direction. I have an idea of what to do…” I began my research on abdominoplasty. I felt good about it. My second triathlon confirmed my feelings: my belly was a huge mass, in the way of even pedaling my bike effectively. Running was ridiculous with how top-heavy I was. I was a triathlete, yet people were constantly asking me when I was due. Again I knelt in prayer. “Heavenly Father, I’ve made a decision. Please help me to have confidence and know that it is the right thing to do.” He did. He let me know, and let my husband know. We decided to keep our decision private.
After my consultation with my surgeon, a date for surgery was set for three months out, and preparations were under way. One aspect of this situation was foremost in my mind: What to say, or not to say, to my children, particularly my daughters. Quickly I made the decision to not bother telling the 5-and-under crowd, as they wouldn’t remember this, but as for the 10 and 8 year olds…while I didn’t feel I needed to justify my actions to them, they certainly deserved an explanation as to why I wouldn’t be able to even lift anything over 5 lbs. for six weeks.
The night before the surgery, my husband and I sat down with our girls, individually and had near identical conversations with each. I asked them what I do each morning before they go to school (gym), and why (to be healthy). We discussed other aspects of health and taking care of our bodies, rote conversation for us. I then revealed that some of my muscles in my abdomen had become detached and so I would be having surgery to put my muscles back in place and therefore make my exercising more effective. (I did NOT say or suggest that this was a problem as a result of having children, as I felt these words would cause my children to think that somehow they were to blame for my being broken and therefore needing to be fixed, which of course is not the case.) The 8 year-old nodded and asked if she could go play. The 10-year-old asked if I was going to die, I answered no, and she asked if I would take her to Target.
Today I’m a little over 10 weeks post-surgery, and my recovery is going very well. I’m back to exercising each day, and I’m careful to listen to my body so as not to pull too much on muscles that feel like they’re working for the first time. I’m numb throughout my abdomen, which is normal – it can take 6 to 7 months for the feeling to return, and sometimes the feeling never completely returns. The swelling I have increases throughout the day. My scar is healing nicely, and my new belly button is off center. And just in case you’re wondering, I’m wearing size 14 jeans.
III has graciously agreed to respond to reader questions about her experience. If you have a question you’d like to ask, feel free to do so in the comments. I am quite aware of the sensitive and controversial nature of this subject (I read the comments in a prior post regarding this topic). Please be advised of our commenting policy and be respectful of these women and their right to choose this path for themselves.
They are some of my dearest friends.
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