• Previous posts

  • Two new delights
  • Less noise, more me
  • Good times
  • Not Ken’s Dream House
  • The joy of different
  • This must be the place
  • All of the feels
  • Life update: endings and beginnings
  • Adapting to the lasts
  • At the same time
  • Take a picture it’ll last longer
  • Horsin’ around
  • Surrender, Dorothy
  • College let-go
  • End of summer this-and-thats

Archives from 2002-2006

I considered getting a breast reduction in 2020, and I mean I strongly considered it: I went to a plastic surgeon and had an official consultation and everything. (Which, amusingly, included a doctor’s note from the visit that described me in part as “well-nourished.” This dry observation reminded me of the elderly pediatrician who took one look at a young wailing baby Riley and wrote “Teething BIG TIME” in his notes before underlining that phrase twice for emphasis.)

Ultimately I decided against it, mostly for pandemic reasons. The news was dire and endlessly confusing at the time, and it felt wildly stupid to put my health at risk for reasons that probably wouldn’t hold up in my brain if there were complications. Well, THIS was super worth it, I could imagine thinking as I choked on the final endotracheal tube.

Now that some time has passed I’m not quite as concerned about tempting medical fate, but when I think of what I hoped to “fix” with a reduction, I realize my bodily complaints have expanded along with my, you know, body.

I’m very drawn to the idea of being less top-heavy, being able to button a shirt, wearing a bra that wasn’t designed by humorless German engineers, and maybe even having less back pain. My boobs have always been unwieldy, but now they’re just uncomfortable all of the damn time. Going from a DD cup to something more C-ivilized sounds like an actual dream, even if it comes with expense and recovery time.

However … it’s just that … well, I’m just saying that as long as my body is on the table and the credit card is being charged, would it really be so bad to add a little extra … liposuction? How about an abdominoplasty, which not only removes extra fat and skin but also tightens muscles in the abdominal wall (which is so appealing, since the older I get the more I feel all loose and SPRUNG in the abdominal area, regardless of exercise)? What about a so-called “mommy makeover”, which does a variety of things in one single-stage procedure?

You see the problem: it never ends.

I do think that a breast reduction is the sort of relief-providing cosmetic surgery that most people don’t regret getting, as compared to, say, a comically outsized Brazilian butt lift. But I also know that it feels like a very slippery slope, and I’ll never run out of things I wish I could change about myself.

Then again, I got LASIK in 1999 and it permanently upgraded my entire life! Even though it was super creepy to smell my actual corneas sizzling! (Fun fact: the odor is the same as burnt hair.) Never say never, boobs: you’re still on notice.

I got my flu/Covid booster shots a couple of days ago, which was an experience I couldn’t help comparing to earlier in the pandemic when I was gripped in a moral quandary over whether or not it was okay for me to get the vaccine because I was offered early access through my hospice work, and then when I finally decided that yes I could help BE the SOLUTION, I waited in line for hours on end and then WEPT WITH GRATITUDE FOR HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT when I got the first shot.

Fast forward to getting my second booster from the world’s weariest and over-it Walgreen’s pharmacy tech and feeling grumpy about having to do so. I probably shouldn’t admit this but I almost didn’t even go to the appointment, even after waiting weeks for an open time. I’ve been slogging through an extended period of Nah for a while now, which is less depressing than Everything Is Awful Why Bother, and not nearly as rage-inducing as Burn It All Down and Salt the Fucking Earth, but … you know. Nah. It’s got all the anhedonia of Meh, but with a no in it. It’s not great.

Nah had me feeling like not only did I not particularly want to get in the car and put on real pants and go stand in the line and fill out the paper form that is inevitably required even though you filled the same thing online, but also that it … really didn’t matter if I got sick or not.

I life-coached my way through it by telling myself that it was the right thing to do (not me cluttering up a hospital bed when healthcare resources are already so strained, can you even imagine all the apologizing I’d have to do with my final breaths), plus it was a good example to set for the kids, plus when you’re in the land of Nah you can’t trust your instincts, which are strong: Go out with friends? Nah. Just text a friend? Nah. Take CARE of your drain-circling self instead of making everything worse with caffeine and a comically bad diet and phone scrolling and Instacart-fueled isolation? Nahhhhhhhhhh.

Real talk, I have not been enjoying this lengthy stay in Nah and I very much hope to find the inner oomph to pick myself up and depart from it soon — although it is perhaps an improvement on drifting around in the Moors of Endless Internal Wailing.

← Previous Page — Next Page →

• My product review site:

  [Older recommendations]