"I want to determine my own age"

For me it started with this nasty soft fat loop, which, I felt it, overnight around my 48-year-old, until then juvenile tight waist. "It's cortisol, a hormone responsible for body fat formation that can not be altered, it's normal at your age," said my gynecologist, "so you'll have to put up with it." As luck would have it, a few weeks later I was having dinner with a handsome gynecologist who had specialized in "aesthetic surgery". "Do you also do liposuction?" I asked. "Every day," he replied, "I specialize in breast implants and bellies."

It must have been the very good wine, in any case, we made the following deal at the end of the evening: I got the liposuction for half (1500 euros), but six doctors were allowed to watch it, which got a certificate for future liposuction. You save 1500 euros, I talked to me well when I coram publico naked in front of six strange men and my "aspirator" was that marked the problem areas with a thick black marker, then stunned me locally, shipped to the brightly lit operating table , pushed a hose right and left into me - and off we go!



My stomach was great now, but what about the rest?

I tried to relax, which is a bit tricky when one of six pretty young men watches a seventh guy suck off some yellow-bodied fat from his own stomach. Three hours later, I was in a tight black compression girdle in the hospital bed, dripping from my "bullet holes", painless but a little unappetizing. In the evening I lay, still trickling, on a separate trash bag, because our sofa was white and new and quite sensitive. Fortunately, my children were away, and my husband asked, slightly disgusted: "Well, at least was it worth it?"

I could do that a week later with a convinced "Yes!" answer. At last I was able to take a shower and admire my slim body. For the first time in my life I did not have a stomach! I fit into trousers again, from which I had previously swelled like a fat sausage. Sucking myself into teen-sized at the age of 48 in just three hours and moderately painful, that was like a miracle to me. My stomach was great now, but what about the rest? Instead of being happy, I felt like someone who started renovating a slightly rotten apartment. It starts with the living room, is highly satisfied. But all the other rooms suddenly seem all the more shabby!



It was exactly the same with me. A discontent settled in me like a stubborn virus. I had never shared the Red Sea - in terms of beauty - but as an "upper mediocre", I realized I had never had any problems with my appearance. Because I took it for granted and thus unchangeable. But now I knew that was not true. You could do something, even a lot and on practically all parts of your body. My breasts, which I had previously ignored, now hung down in front of my supercritical eye thick and heavy. Compared to my slender belly, they looked like oversized, ugly wrecking pears. The right keyword: demolition!

My husband was not thrilled when I wished for a small surgery contribution from him at Christmas. "I love your big tits," he said. "I want to keep them." "But not me," I called, "they disturb the big picture, do not you see that?" My husband is a dear, my exhauster had an appointment free, so I let me remove 450 grams from each breast, including lifting and nipple reduction cost me the fun almost 5000 euros, for the next holiday was therefore tents on the Baltic Sea announced. Since I spent a night in the hospital with drains, I had to tell the truth to my children. "You cut your breasts smaller?" Asked my eight-year-old son in horror. "Why?" My daughter just said, "But if I want a tongue piercing or a tattoo, you run out of breath, where is the logic, mommy?" She was completely right. There was no logic. I had no back pain because of my breast, it just did not fit my sucked belly anymore.



Only this one beauty operation, then it's over

By the way, about six months as flat as a taut bed sheet remained, then slipped back the first small dents. In front of a friend whom I had initiated, I pulled up my T-shirt. "Well," she said, "it looks a bit like you have cellulite on your stomach." No problem, my doctor said, I correct that for free. I went there, had six months rest, then my stomach was dunked again.And since I still like to eat, I had, about two years after the first suction, on the waist and back that what is called in professional circles "fir tree fat". If I? Heimlich best, I had no desire to be justified by my family argumentatively put on the wall. So I waited for a family visit to my parents-in-law, to which I had no desire anyway, and let me siphon off my Christmas tree in a two-hour session.

I had a guilty conscience, but I told myself, just this one more time, then it's over. My husband discovered the infamous black compression corset in the lingerie and made a huge scene for me. "You're addicted," he shouted, "if you keep this up you'll look like Melanie Griffith at some point." I rejected this accusation, but internally I had to agree with him. My view of people, especially women, had become much more critical since my first intervention. I no longer saw them as they were, but as they could be. "Mommy, your slip, so that's a very small operation," I suggested to my indignant mother, even my girlfriends were not spared from my suggestions for improvement.

I saw no more people, I saw only flaws. Recoverable defects. Furrows, fat deposits, wrinkles. Especially with me, of course. This deep forehead wrinkle, which I did not notice sooner! For my first Botox syringe, unfortunately, I had to change the doctor. I went with a friend who lamented an even deeper forehead wrinkle. The syringe was short and painful, for lasting success, said the doctor, who himself had a botox-smooth face, we would come every six months. The optimal effect would come after two weeks. In fact, after about 14 days, my forehead wrinkle had almost disappeared. Great, I thought, I do that regularly now. Then my friend called me: "Since this morning I see twice," she howled, "I was already at the ophthalmologist, but he has not found anything. Tomorrow I have an appointment with a neurologist, maybe I had a miniscrew attack."

I saw no more people, only shortcomings.

Luckily she did not, just a little botoxpech. "Can happen, Botox sometimes wanders, goes away again," said the doctor. Well, it took four weeks before she could not see twice and drive again. My friend went despite this breakdown six months later to a friendly dermatologist, who promised her a Botox syringe for half. "Did your husband beat you up?", My friend shouted in horror as the doctor with a droopy eyelid came into the treatment room. He had not, but even with her, the Botox had wandered. My girlfriend left the practice and spent the money for a wellness weekend.

And I decided to see this as a divine sign. I had a fairly flat stomach, I also liked my bosom, my face would age in peace. I owe it to my 15-year-old daughter who recently asked me, "Mum, can I have implants?"

A Color Test That Can Tell Your Mental Age (May 2021).



plastic surgery