Skin Deep: 2
So it’s a few weeks later and here I am on my way to surgery. I am of course nervous, but mostly thrilled. I can’t wait for this to be done! I know I seem extremely self-confident. Ok I’ll be honest, I’m aware of how most people must see me. Self-centered and arrogant are probably words that others would use to describe me. But the truth is I worked hard to get what I have. I spend so much time improving myself and my place in life that I deserve to be proud of it! I should be allowed to show off. If, in the process of me enjoying my success a few people have a problem with it then, oh well. Most people are not totally happy with who they are so when they see people like me they try to tear us down instead of taking steps to improve their own pathetic lives. It’s called reality. Heck I’m not 100% happy with myself. There has always been a part of me that feels I could look better. That’s why I’m getting this surgery. Let’s face it A cups don’t get you noticed. They don’t leave an impression. The entertainment industry has it’s own form of natural selection. People like me are held to a higher standard. Pressure is put upon us to be perfect. And to tell the truth I wouldn’t have it any other way. My life was never meant to be ordinary. Even though I already have so much to offer, after this doors will open for me. After this I will be the total package.
I reach the hospital and preparations begin. I’m dressed in one of those ugly gowns and being hooked up to all these machines. One of which is an I.V. going into my vein. Later Dr. Lords comes in and explains what will happen. I’ve heard all this before but it’s his job so I just smile and nod. The nurse then injects the I.V. bag with a sedative. For a split second I think I see the fluid turn black. But then I blink and it’s the same clear solution it always was. I start to feel drowsy as they wheel me into the O.R. Now they put the mask over my face. It’s strange, but before I lose consciousness the last thought I have is the image of that car on the shoulder of the freeway and the chalk outline on the ground.
When I come to something doesn’t feel right. I expected to feel groggy and in pain. That’s just part of the deal. But this feels like I’m missing something. Oh well. I’ve never had surgery before, disorientation is probably normal. I love how they already have me on the pain medication. As far as pain goes, I don’t feel a thing. My room is awesome too. It’s like a suite at a four star hotel. I knew this doctor was top tier, but even I wasn’t expecting this. Still, that feeling is there just under the surface. The drugs have made me drowsy though so I drift back to sleep. I spend the first few days of my recovery pretty dazed and hazy. It’s probably the drugs. I don’t mind. I’m sure the alternative totally sucks. Why be in pain if you don’t have to be? So the day comes when it’s time to go home. I’m happy to go. While the nurse has been taking good care of me, the uneasiness I’ve been feeling has not gone away. I attribute it to being here and not in my own bed. Also I have not seen the good doctor at all since before the surgery. Is that normal? Where the hell has he been? I have a follow up appointment so he can’t avoid me forever.
They send me home with plenty of drugs. My prescription for something called Formethanol contains 90 pills. Damn I hope I don’t need that many. How bad is this pain supposed to get? Then something strikes me. I haven’t felt any pain since I woke up. Not for a minute. Not a twinge. The meds they’ve had me on so far must be powerful but I don’t like the side effect of being in a fog. I think I’ll just hold off on taking these pills until I really need them. My boyfriend was supposed to pick me up but he hasn’t shown and he’s not answering his phone. A cab takes me home and I am thoroughly pissed by the time I get there. He’s usually so attentive. He knows I’m probably the hottest woman he’s ever been with so he normally treats me like a queen. When I get inside I find that he, of course, is not home. I don’t know what to do with myself so I go into the kitchen to get something to eat. But as I make myself a sandwich I realize I’m not hungry. Actually I can’t remember the last time I was hungry or even the last time I ate. Weird. I go upstairs. The familiarity of my room makes me feel a little better. Tired too. I pass out on my bed.
To be continued…