Beaten up by a Lesbian?

It has almost been two weeks since my surgery and I’m slowly awakening from my antibiotic, ant-inflammatory- and pain medication haze. I’m bruised, battered and slightly worse for wear but at least it’s all over and I can again string two coherent sentences together. The surgery went well, I’m healing and in six to eight weeks, after I have seen every hue of purple my body can produce and the swelling finally subsides, I shall be happy with the result. Plastic surgery isn’t for the faint of heart and looking back and catching unflattering glimpses of myself in the mirror it begs the question – Will I do it again?

The morning of my surgery I was a mixture of excited to finally have the source of my esthetic discontent cut out of my body and incredibly nervous to undergo twilight anesthesia. The prospect of being semi conscious while somebody takes a scalpel to your eyes is less than thrilling. Hubby and I arrived at the doctor’s office fashionably 5 minutes early and like a lamb to the slaughter I checked in. After a short but agonizing wait the surgeon fetched me from the waiting area, introduced me to the nurse that was going to assist him, made some small talk, laid me on the bed then took my arm gently placed the drip’s needle into a vain. It wasn’t long after this that things became fuzzy and my recollection of what transpired is patchy to say the least.

I do recall that at one stage I was in discomfort and after responding to the surgeon’s question to that effect things went blank again. I also recall that I was asked to open my eyes, being aware that I was being stitched up and after the surgery asking to see what had been cut out (I’m macabrely weird like that). The next memory was of us driving home and then waking up in bed. Queerly, I don’t recall ever actually being in any kind of pain. Waking up in bed realizing that the surgery was over I couldn’t resist taking a look at my face. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror I recall thinking to myself that I didn’t look that bad, I was only slightly swollen and bruised, little did I know it was about to get a great deal worse.

It wasn’t until that evening that the swelling began. My eyes swelled up like carnival balloon, went pink and then a dark purple. I looked like I was in a fight with a butch dyke and her biker friends and I had lost! For dramatic effect I was also bleeding a little from my stitches. I looked ghoulish and hubby was understandably horrified! It was a long night; I slept in the vampire position and became very familiar with the term “discomfort”. Strangely enough it didn’t physically hurt but it sure was painful to watch, so I decided to keep a photo diary of my recovery (again I’m macabrely weird like that). The next few days were spent mostly in bed and an unhealthy relationship with ice packs emerged. I was in loved my two blue frosty pads of comfort – they were my precious!

The first week of being semi immobilized vertically and socially unacceptably looking I did the only thing I could – I watched allot of television and slept. I caught up with Oprah and Ellen and watched all ten hours of the 83rd Academy Awards (E’s red carpet, the unedited award ceremony and E’s Fashion Police’s Oscar special). My sleeping pattern was noticeably screwed up and I felt jet lagged. Week two wasn’t much better but I was at least out of bed more. The main source of annoyance after the surgery strangely enough wasn’t the bruising or the swelling but those damn stitches! They itched and it drove me insane! Luckily, a week after surgery they were taken out, much to my relief, and this was also the only painful part of my plastic surgery procedure. My follow up visit was largely uneventful, I was told I’m healing great will be looking fabulous in two months time and to still take it easy for another week. But I was really getting bored at home, tired of television so I had to find something else to do.

So I discovered Facebook’s Farmville, the most annoying and frustrating thing ever invented by mankind. It’s time consuming, competitive and after one week I was ready to give it up and let my little cyber farm wither and die. But at least it kept my occupied for a while. As my bruising and swelling started subsiding I ventured out of my self-imposed isolation and instead of asking hubby to get stuff from the shop I braved going out in public. My Prada sunglasses came in handy nicely hiding my now blue, green and yellow eyes. However, it is quite strange how quickly one can forget that you still look pretty bad if you don’t look at yourself in the mirror every five minutes. This little slip of the mind grossed out and shocked a few people the other day.

In the shop minding my own business I was looking for eye drops in the self medication section and was unable to find it. Being far- and near sighted at the same time and the well illuminated shelves dimmed by Prada and deep in thought I took off my sunglasses to take a better look. Not finding it, I proceeded to finish my shopping. I noticed people looking at me funny but I just thought they were all having a bad day and I ignored them. It wasn’t until I made it to the front of the checkout counter that I realized the cause of the stares. “Sir, I know it is none of my business but who did this to you?” a very concerned lady asked me. Taken aback by her frankness and realizing that my sunglasses were on my head and not on my face the only response I could think off at that moment was “Dr Paul Pienaar”. Not elaborating the lady probably left thinking my plastic surgeon beat me up and that’s fine too.

Tomorrow it will be two weeks since my surgery and I will be returning to that place that pays my bills. Most of my colleagues know what I have done and those who don’t will probably think I was either gay bashed, beaten up by a lesbian, in an abusive relationship, in a car accident or walked into a door. In retrospect I am happy that I have done this and the experience was not all that unpleasant. I’m still healing, still a bit bruised but all things considered it was worth it. I can’t wait to see the full result and patience is not one of my virtues, but alas I have no choice. Will I do this again? Ask me again in ten years and the answer will most probably be yes!

Till next time.

Lady Gaga - Born This Way