Internally Flawless
Today, Dr. Mike is breaking my ribs. Only the bottom ones, mind you, a minor operation to give me back the twenty-three inch waist I had before I got married. It took me a while to realize it but I was a real stunner back then. Dr. Mike agrees – he has good taste. I showed him my old, semi-blurry photos from college as inspiration.
My hands are in my coat pockets as I walk through the clinic’s frosted glass doors. I’ve worked with Dr. Mike on all of my optimizations, so I’m familiar with his other regulars. They’re the type of housewives to immediately notice the missing rings on my fingers and I’m not in the mood to answer questions. After my divorce was finalized last month, I pawned all my jewelry, including my 5 carat, internally flawless, diamond engagement ring that Julien proposed with. Vintage Cartier. It belonged to his grandmother. I love that ring, but life is short and at the end of the day, I love myself more. He’s my ex now, anyway, so it’s not like the ring does anything for me. The money is going towards a good cause – I’m investing in myself.
The hour I spend completing the pre-surgery medical forms is always tedious, especially since they have all of my information already, but Stacie at the front desk insists that I do them before each procedure. “For liability porpoises,” she squeezes through her ridiculously puffy lips before sliding me the clipboard, a pen, and a few extra sheets of paper. I pick it up begrudgingly and settle into a plush pink armchair as far away as possible from Nosy Nancy, a regular who has certainly had too many rhinoplasties.
Name. Birthday.
I scribble with the pen. I’m 32 this year. Newly divorced. Isn’t that wretched? We met in college. Married for nearly ten years. We inherited his uncle’s five-bedroom house in the suburbs and couldn’t wait to fill it with babies.
List all your past surgeries and procedures. I grab the extra sheets of paper. At first, it was just small stuff like lasers for my face and body hair. I wanted to glow at my wedding. After the first miscarriage, it was botox around my face and a new set of lips. I couldn’t stand looking so miserable, so I fixed it. The next miscarriage was when I did full-body lipo because I needed to get rid of all the fat I had put on from the depression. The third miscarriage introduced me to microneedling with salmon sperm, mini-facelift with threads, and removing the excess skin around my eyes. Now, I could almost be mistaken for the beauty I was when Julien and I first met. Almost.
Stacie sees that I’m done with the forms and waves for me to follow her through the glittering double doors behind her reception desk. The corridor is sanitized like a hospital and bears no resemblance to the sweet demeanor of the waiting room, except for the large posters lining the walls that mention Dr. Mike’s newest offerings. The one about collagen injections for toes is intriguing – I’ve always hated the way my feet look in sandals.
As I lie in the cot while nurses prepare anesthesia, I think about Julien. He was kind and supportive in every way. He gave me everything I wanted, including these optimizations and the divorce. I just couldn’t give him the one thing he asked for in return. A family. I wonder where I would be if we hadn’t met. When I wake up with my new waist, it’ll be like I’m nineteen again. I’ll start over.
Preamble
Model: The 400-Pound CEO by George Saunders
Narrator: 1st person PN speaking in a confiding but natural voice. PN has been ostracized for some reason. They loath themselves though they never mention it. They are not self-aware.
Tone: conversational, matter-of-fact | Mood: Sad
Posts in this series
Internally Flawless
Panic!
Portrait Study
Discharged
Ocean Ode
Proper Protocol