FFS!? Friday : The no FFS!? edition

There will be no FFS!?ing today, my friends.

Instead, as you read this, I will be blissfully unaware and completely out of it, while my beloved, witty, Scottish surgeon goes all Edward Scissorhands on my middle.

Finally, after over 3 years and more than 40kg (90lbs) of weight loss, today is tummy tuck day. No FFS!?

Or, in my case, medically required massive abdominoplasty day.

Because I don't do things by halves.  I was all like "bitch please, standard or minor tummy tucks are for wimps....".

Thanks to my mad Google skillz while trying to find a 'tummy tuck funny' pic for this post (funnily enough...there are none - go figure...), I am now, the night before, graphically aware of just how extensively I'll be cut from top to bottom, side to side, a lot like gutting a fish.

NOICE...and you're all exceptionally welcome for the TMI descriptive over-sharing and resultant visuals. Heh.

 I’m all kinds of excited.

I’m also slightly sad, which is weird.  Not scared, just sad.

I’ve become quite attached to my enormous, deflated balloon middle.

I’m used to rolling that bad boy up and doing origami style moves to shove it into my clothing.

It’s my reminder of how far I’ve come, how much weight I’ve lost.

But today's the day.  My end-goal, the final result.

Now I’m going to enjoy a week in a hospital room that is my own. No FFS!?

Nobody sharing my bed. No FFS!?

Nobody to negotiate TV viewing with. No FFS!?

Nobody busting in on my toilet time. No FFS!?

Someone else cooking and serving my meals. No FFS!?

Someone else making my bed. No FFS!?

Someone else cleaning my room. No FFS!?

Someone listening to me whine.  No FFS!?

Then providing me with little pills to quell my whining. No FFS!?

I'll be able to shop for clothes in the normal section from now on, instead of the generously-waisted maternity section. No FFS!?

No more wearing maternity jeans.  Backwards (True story).  No FFS!?

For the first time in my entire life, I’ll be able to wear clothes that don’t have an elastic waist. No FFS!?

Normal undies, none of that lycra crap. No FFS!?

All of that after 6-8 weeks in this bad boy:

 

Dead Sexy
No clue how to tell the front from the back

I’m seeing it as a mega send off to all the sadistic lycra tummy-sucking undies I’ve worn religiously for so many years.

So, you see, there’s no FFS!?ing today.

But I guarantee I’ll be back with lots of whiney FFS!? moments next Friday.

For now, I'm ready for my sponge bath, Dr Ross