Woman Talks About Her Liposuction Surgery Openly To Inspire Others
- JWB Post
- September 8, 2015
Reading the title of this makes me instantly dislike the author. Me. I sound self-obsessed, superficial and vapid. I know I’m none of those things, which is why I’m sharing my story. Because as ironic as it sounds, I am actually comfortable in my own skin.
I started one of the first beauty blogs in the world: Meg’s Makeup. My job was to test potions and powders. I flew around the country and filmed national TV shows talking about serums and creams. I was always honest. When anyone asked what the best way to get rid of lines were, I would tell them the truth: Botox. (And the reason I’m writing this and not flying to my private island on my Gulfstream is because I thought YouTube was a fad. Those vloggers make fortunes and I could have been the first!) Plastic surgery isn’t for everyone, but I’ve never been against surgical enhancements. The boobs never came so I bought some. I have terrible hair, so my luscious mane is all extensions. My top lip is skinny, so I have it injected to appear fuller. I also rescue dogs, give money to the less fortunate and hand out sandwiches to the homeless. (See what society just did there? I was feeling judged.) And the fear of being judged is why every celebrity in Hollywood denies having had work done. It’s just their “lucky genes” and “eating clean” that has kept them perpetually young and thin. I live here. I know that is complete B.S.
Growing up, I weighed 90 pounds soaking wet. My body type isn’t apple or pear, it’s spider: I have spindly, long chicken legs and arms and a really round stomach. I buy my clothes in a size zero, but I can’t wear anything that’s tight in the middle. When I turned 38, I quit smoking and a sad consequence of that is weight gain. In my case, the weight concentrated even more around my belly and everywhere I went—the nail salon, the dry cleaners—I found myself being congratulated on a baby I was not carrying. I followed the typical course of action: I subscribed to a whole foods delivery service, hired a personal trainer and went to the gym four days a week for five months. My arms became sculpted. My butt was toned. My legs were great. My stomach? The same.
I started getting discouraged, so I decided to call in the big guns. They say to be successful in life, you should have a good lawyer, mechanic and accountant on speed dial. If you live in Los Angeles, you have to replace those with colorist, dermatologist and plastic surgeon. Look, I know a lot of plastic surgeons. I’ve seen their before and after photos, I’ve interviewed them for magazines and TV, I’ve even been in a relationship with one. I’m the friend everyone calls when they’re looking for a recommendation. Dr. Marc Mani is the real deal. He’s like a nightclub with no sign out front; you have to audition to get him to work on you and he has sent more than a few friends out the door if he didn’t approve of their decision to get work done. (A close girlfriend told me that Dr. Mani matter-of-factly informed her that if her boobs were any larger, she would look ridiculous.) Other surgeons are just happy for the business, but I knew he would tell me the truth.
I walked into his office and changed into a gown. He stared at my stomach, then he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Go to the gym. If it doesn’t go away after that, then come back.” That was that. I went to back to working out for a few months, but when nothing changed, I made another appointment to see Dr. Mani. This time, he gave me a different response: “Yes, that stomach is hereditary, part of getting older.” He paused and then pinched under my chin. “This is also fat you can’t exercise away. I’ll remove that as well.” My God, I hadn’t even noticed my chin before! “The smoking hollowed out your face, so I’m going to take the fat from your stomach and put it into your cheeks to fill your face out,” he said. Then he touched the area under my eyes. “And while you’re under, I’m going to give you a lower bleph.” I nodded my head as though I knew what a “lower bleph” was (turns out, it stands for blephoraplasty—the removal of bags under the eyes). I was glad he pointed out these other areas that needed tuning up a mere two days before the stomach surgery because it gave me less time to obsess about it. Anyway, there was no question about having him do it—he does the most natural work in town.
Most people keep their plastic surgery a secret. Not me. I announced it on Facebook and made a YouTube video about it. I am in the beauty industry and have always believed in full transparency. Plastic surgery is a subject that a lot of women are curious about and I don’t think wanting to look better should be a taboo subject. Sure, I got a few snotty comments but more than that, I got tons of questions and I replied honestly to all of them.
It’s been six weeks since the removal of Gus (what I nicknamed my stomach), and everything else. I wore a bandage around my stomach and chin for 24 hours a day for the first week, half that time for the following week. It was uncomfortable, but not painful. I was up and walking around by the second day but ideally, it takes a week at least to fully recover.
Was my decision extreme? Yes, of course it was. Could I have lived a perfectly fine life without it? Without a doubt. Do I feel like a new person? No, but I do feel like someone who can go out confidently in a bathing suit. Is it expensive? Yes, it starts at around 35k, but I don’t have children so I won’t be paying for college any time soon. Was it worth it? Look at my pictures and decide.
And here’s the trailer I made to announce my decision and poke a little fun at myself:
This article was 1st published here.