Apparently I’m back from hiatus. Does ten days qualify as a hiatus? And is it just me, or do you guys think of a hiatal hernia when you see the word “hiatus”? Just me? Hm.
Anyway, today was the final touch up on my tattoos. Happy I am that’s over because it means my reconstruction is officially complete! I see the plastic surgeon in July – I think. Could be June. I’m not sure. Guess I’d better check on that. – for the final word and then I will be released. Which I suppose means I have to be happy with the results.
“Happy” isn’t exactly the word I would use. “Resigned” maybe? No. That’s almost too harsh. Oh, I don’t know what the proper adjective would be. All I know is, while the results aren’t what I had imagined, they’re not so bad and I’m okay with them. And really, the issues I have with the girls are private matters now that I’m not taking my shirt off to every person in a lab coat. Meaning most people will never see what the problems are.
Speaking of people in lab coats, I wonder what my last appointment will be like. I’m used to seeing the plastic surgeon with a felt tip marker in one hand, a camera in the other and a plethora of students behind him.
Not only did I have the touch ups today, I also had my second round of laser hair removal under my arms. I was cursing myself (in my curse language which is usually something like, “Dangit, Jen! You’re such a bonehead!” – I’m such a potty mouth) because I forgot to take some ibuprofen before the appointment. I also cursed my lack of leather accessories because it left me with nothing to chomp down on. I figured my Crocs would taste like rubber and that’s just icky.
So I’m laying back in the chair, left arm up over my head and eyes shut tight behind metal goggles, anxiously wondering when she’s going to zap me. You know how they say you don’t remember pain? What a crock! I had no trouble remembering the sizzling, smelly snap each time a hair follicle was obliterated and I wasn’t looking forward to it today. So I kept trying to picture gloriously hair-free underarms in an effort to convince myself the pain was worth it.
Turns out the first treatment was such a success that there wasn’t even half the zapping going on today. Oh, some of them hurt pretty bad. They liken it to a rubber band snap, but I liken the worst zaps to being vigorously poked with an extremely hot needle. Last time she put ice packs under my arms afterwards. This time they weren’t needed.
I go back for my last laser treatment on June 30th. Hopefully that will be the end of it and I’ll never ever ever have another unwanted underarm hair for as long as I live. If only I had the money and the pain tolerance to do my legs and bikini area. Looks like I won’t be throwing away my razors any time soon.