I had a consultation with another plastic surgeon this morning. Within five minutes of walking in the door of the clinic, I knew it was going to be a NO for me, but we met with the surgeon anyway, to learn and see what he recommended. We walked away with more knowledge, so it definitely wasn’t a bust.
(Pun totally intended.)
I am more certain in what I want in a surgeon, and what I want done to this body, which birthed and fed four incredible humans, so I’m okay being completely scrupulous about the person I pick to cut into it. (And you should, too, if you are considering this as well!)
I’ve always been super intrigued about this process, which is why I’m [over]sharing about this experience. And I that’s why I’m blogging about the decision and the things I’m observing and thinking about as we meet with these surgeons/clinics.
I realize this sounds incredibly snobby and superficial, but in this case, all of the furniture in the waiting room was from IKEA, and the surgeon wore black socks with white sandals. I usually find the sock/sandal combo so endearing of my beloved German people. But not in this case! Nothing was pristine. The artwork was like that you’d see in a hotel. The examples/results shown to us were nice enough, but for someone who works exclusively in aesthetics … I was just surprised there wasn’t more attention or quality to those details.
I will say that both surgeons (so far) were complimentary about, um, the girls. After feeding four for a total of five years, I thought they would recommend more, but nope … no implants needed. Just a lift to perk ‘em up again.
I have another consultation this week, and then I will make a decision soon after that. Whew!