I woke up from the anesthesia crying. Two female doctors were hovering over me as I blinked open my eyes, looked down at my chest, and tears began to flow. I sobbed uncontrollably. The doctors were quick and compassionate as they leaned down to touch my back and check my monitors. With a voice filled with concern, one of them said, “Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?”

Still sobbing, I shook my head “no,” and managed to gasp out, “Tears of joy. Happy,” I said, smiling through the tears. Both doctors began to laugh and I remember the smiles on their faces. For me, it was just a few moments ago that I was being wheeled into the O.R. and, then seemingly seconds later, I was awakened. In reality, it was six hours later and the lengthy surgery was behind me.

Ahhh, what adventure had I embarked on this time? It was a dream come true; one of just three things on my bucket list finally crossed off. (I know I’m lame for only having three things on my bucket list… but give me a little time, I’ll get more on there. Besides, I don’t really count traveling to cool places a bucket list kind of thing. I’d have at least 50 more items on there if I counted all of the places/countries I wanted to visit before I die, but I’m excluding “Travel” on mine.)

What began as a 20-year dream turned into a bit more along the way. Since the age of 20, I have always been…ahhh…shall we say, quite endowed. It annoyed me. Some may love having copious amount of cleavage, but for me, it was a hassle. Way above even being considered “generous," the size of my chest made it difficult to buy good fitting clothes and often caused physical ailments too. After three children, weight gain and weight loss… they were less than pretty and not very comfortable; especially while running. Even with layering two, very expensive sports bras¸ and bandaging myself up when needed, I was often left with open, oozing sores covering my rib cage and shoulders after putting myself through the dreaded long run. When this happened, showering was excruciating as the hot water pelted and burned the chaffed, open wounds. I often cried in pain during my half-marathon training because of it. Even though I had dreamed of having a reduction for years, I always found reasons to keep putting it off. Plus, I had thought that I shouldn’t be that vain… that people who get plastic surgery must have some other body issues going on.  That was an ignorant assumption and a cop-out on my part.  Having turned 40, and learning a lot about myself, and life in general over the past five years, I’ve realized how ridiculous that kind of thinking is. In 2010, I had lost over 80+ pounds that I had gained after 3 kids, during a 6-year period. What was I waiting for? It was time. I decided that enough was enough.  Life is short.  

After consulting with my family doctor and a plastic surgeon, I was informed that I also had a hernia that had to be repaired. When discussing this, the doctor mentioned he could also repair my abdominal muscle, which had been cut three times during the c-sections I had. I asked about a tummy tuck, since he was going to be doing all kinds of work down there anyway, and he agreed that with all of the weight loss, I was definitely a good candidate. My skin was very stretched out and very damaged and he assured me he could remove it all, along with most of my stretch marks. I was in heaven! But, completely and utterly petrified.

I spoke to my sister-in-law, who is an O.R. nurse, and asked which surgeon she would recommend if she could pick anyone. Without telling her who I had already had a consult with, I was pleased when she uttered the name of the surgeon that I had just seen. I knew my sissy would take care of me. She requested the best of the best to be in the operating room during my surgery and  that really helped put my mind at ease.

Deciding to have plastic surgery was not an easy decision. As I said, 20 years of want, and the last three years of careful consideration, research and discussions with my husband and friends, along with realizing my own needs and comfort led me to this decision. Not only were some of the procedures medically necessary, but I felt all would result in a happier, healthier, more balanced “me.”

This was a major surgery I underwent; four procedures, six hours and general anesthetic. I was scared, nervous and quite honestly, freaking out beforehand. I had heard horror stories from people who underwent breast reductions and was worried that the doc would take too much. Just before the surgery, I specifically remember telling him, “If you’re gonna error, error on the side of too big, Okay?” The doc laughed and knowingly said, “I gotcha. Don’t worry. You’ll be beautiful.”

Although instantly happy with the results I had, I was in pain. The doctor only removed approximately 5 lbs. of tissue and skin, but it felt like I was cut in half and had just done about 3,000 situps. I wasn’t able to stand upright for a few days due to the tightened skin and with all of the stitches I had, my friends jokingly referred to me as “Franken-Julie,” or "Sally," from Tim Burton's Nightmare before Christmas. Cut from hipbone to hipbone, and also vertically from that point to the top of my rib cage, I now have what I consider to be the most beautiful, intricate anchor-shaped incision (which will most likely be a delicate scar). I have those same anchor shaped incisions on the under side of both of my breasts, which as of now, are proportional, full and perky! They are healing fabulously and even though slightly creepy, I think the stitched up areas look cool. The surgeon was an artist with the scalpel. These incisions are so thin, that I cannot imagine them leaving ugly scars. Unfortunately, I am also suffering through the discomfort of having three drains hanging off of me, while my body recovers from this massive invasion. Since the surgery on November 8th, I have spent every day and every night on the couch in my living room. Sleeping at a 30 degree angle (as prescribed) and wearing a binder around my entire midsection 24-hours a day, I endure the uncomfortableness of  it as well as numb feet and toes from the lack of physical activity. Also, because my skin is so sensitive, I have blisters and reddened scrapes and cuts from the annoying body binders.  Just one month ago, I was running 12 miles at a time. Now, I struggle to walk upright the length of one neighborhood block. It can get disheartening. But, every day I am feeling better and walking just a bit more.  It’s not pain anymore…it’s mostly just discomfort, with an occasional burning sensation if I overuse my core muscles. (For example,  stretching to get something off of the top shelf in the kitchen is definitely  a no-no.)

Even through all of this, I am quite happy. I am very thankful for all of the support I've had from my family and friends throughout all of this. Words cannot express how much their visits, phone calls, emails, cards, and flowers have meant to me. The results of my surgery are even better than I could have imagined, as I have zero (yes, ZERO) stretch marks on my abdomen. And, with my muscle now repaired and no extra skin in the way, I’m even more motivated to get cut. (And no, I don’t mean cut open again.. I mean ripped!)  I actually can’t wait to start back at the gym and work my abs out! People tell me, "You’ve had a tummy tuck and lipo – you don’t need to work out your abs anymore!" But for me, it’s just a better showcase to use the body I’ve worked so hard to get! I have no intention to have a body-builder physique… but some definition is definitely sexy in my book.  

Plastic surgery isn’t just for people who are vain or have body issues. It can be very healing. It is often medically necessary and it can change your life for the better. I’m not saying it’s for everyone. Sure, some use it as an “easy, quick fix” to change some part of themselves… but for me, it was so much more. It gave me back my confidence, it allowed me to actually see all of the hard work I’ve done to get healthy over the last three years, and, it will hopefully make a huge impact on my health and running. It has also given me something I strive for in my daily life… a feeling of balance.

Oh yeah, and I got to cross off something from my bucket list!

Here’s to dreams coming true and four more weeks of healing… (and, bikini season! Haaa!)

I wrote the beginnings of this blog post quite a while ago. It was shelved, but in lieu of an upcoming event, I needed to share it. With some revisions and added insight at the end, I think it's quite appropriate. I had an A-ha moment. I hate to admit it and I’m really not a huge follower of Oprah, but I can’t deny it…I had an “A-ha! Moment.”  It was 10 o’clock and the kids were in bed. The lights were dimmed and I was sitting on my couch, feet stretched out comfortably on the ottoman, laptop propped on my legs, typing away at the keyboard while I worked on my website. I was suddenly struck at the number of blogs I had written over the past year. The very first thought that popped into my head was, “That is so weird. I am soooo not a writer. How did I even come up with all of that stuff?” Then I clicked around the site and upon seeing the links to my books (The Ruby Blue Series), I was struck by another thought, “Hey. I wrote some books. How the heck did that happen? I am soooo not a writer.” 

It was funny. Not in the “ha-ha” way, but in the “that is just too bizarre to be true” way. The realization proved a long-standing theory of mine: just because we don’t believe something, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

I’ll give you another example. Take your fitness level…Many of us are blinded and don’t realize how out of shape we have become. We avoid mirrors and scales and buy pants with elastic in them to hide the truth from ourselves. “Noooo, I’m not really that heavy. Yesss! I can totally still run a mile! I was on the track team in high school!” And then…reality hits.

Yes. You are that heavy, and no, you cannot run that mile anymore.

Just because we can’t believe it, doesn’t make it less true.

I still can’t believe that I am a runner. It took me a full year and running a half-marathon to finally admit to myself that indeed, I am a runner. Two years later, I still don’t like to admit it to other people, because I’m afraid they’ll find out my little secret…that I really don’t know what the heck I’m doing, that I’m not a real runner and I’ll get kicked out of their little club. Of course, I rationalize silently with myself that this won’t actually happen.  I don’t have a membership card that “they” (whoever “they” are) will revoke. But somewhere, in the dark little corners of my mind, those are the thoughts of doubt that weigh me down. I have written hundreds of thousands of words, yet I still can’t believe that I am a writer. It doesn’t fit into the carefully constructed image I have of myself.  I write, and people actually read what a write. Still, I don’t believe it. Those same scary thoughts of disbelief and being ousted as a fraud clutter my mind. I don’t want to get kicked out of the club! Yet, every author I have met has welcomed me into their little community with open arms. Just as every runner has. I opened myself up and made my weaknesses crystal clear.  Instead of being ridiculed, challenged or shunned, I was given acceptance, advice, and help.

I think when we are honest about what we are doing and what we want our outcome to be, people are more willing to lend a helping hand or offer support. When you put on airs  (or as I used to say when I was kid, “act big”) it’s a turnoff. Who likes a know-it-all? Nobody. Who wants to be around someone who is full of themselves and can’t admit when they need help? Nobody. Of course, we all have that problem at some point or another. The key is to realize those qualities are there and be honest with ourselves about them. When we are willing to make ourselves vulnerable it allows us to be the most open to change and growth. It can also open the door to the most amazing opportunities and people.

I was absolutely blown away at the willingness of others to lend me a helping hand. It is the kind of person I strive to be. If I can make one person feel those feelings just one time, then I’ve accomplished something unbelievably great. Because for me, it has been perhaps the most incredible feeling I have ever experienced in my 40 years. I liken it to that scene in “How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes too big… the explosion of warmth in my chest that overwhelms me with a happy, gooey goodness too big for words. I had it when I crossed the finish line at my first race (and every race since then) and heard other runners cheering for me, high-fiving me, and hugging me. I had it when my website went live and received my first comments from readers. I had it when I got my first rejection letter and my stupid-head brother made me cry with his words of encouragement and love. I had it when my book went live and earned several five-star reviews from complete strangers within two days of its release.  I got it yet again, when a colleague and friend offered to complete a book trailer for me.

Happy, gooey goodness too big for words.

People can believe in you and do amazing things for you…if you let them. Will you ask for help? And if so, will accept it? Trust me, there are people out there whose only intentions are to offer friendship, support and motivation. The results can be spectacular and lead you down roads you never knew were there. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe in ourselves; It’s hard to believe in others.  But it doesn’t make the reality of the situation any less real. At times, the reality of a particular situation sucks. But sometimes, whether it's personal or professional, the things you just “can’t believe” are the truest, most wonderful things there are. 

I don’t often see magic, but I know I believe in it. I don’t often see miracles, but I believe in those too. And, I still don’t quite believe it, but I am a writer. Maybe if I keep saying it, it will sound truer. And maybe, just maybe, I have to believe the unbelievable.  You should try it sometime... It just might make your story epic.