The 2 days at home before surgery flew past. I said goodbye to my kids the night before we left knowing that the next time I would see them, I would be two weeks post-op and would look very, very different. They were no different to usual. My son grasped it a bit better, but their attention span and emotions weren’t in line with what was a pretty big deal!
The morning before surgery ended up being my first, and last CrossFit class since before Christmas. We had booked to go to CrossFit Green near the hospital and it was always my plan that I would do a final class in Dublin before surgery. I had just hoped that I’d also make it to some in my own gym before. It turned out to be the first (and last I hope) workout that I seriously considered quitting. I was so deconditioned from being out of the gym for a month and still not 100%. My heart rate skyrocketed pretty quickly. I knew I would never reach the numbers on the board. At the end, I didn’t actually do as badly as I thought given all the factors, but if I hadn’t been getting surgery, I would have been seriously pissed off at myself for even of thinking of quitting.
Later that day, was my marking appointment. That appointment had been in my head since my surgery was booked - maybe then it would all seem real, because that appointment would mean it was really happening. What I didn’t anticipate, were the nerves. It was like Éilís read my mind when I went in - “a lot of patients feel nervous for this appointment but leave feeling much better,” which was exactly what happened.
I signed the consent form to confirm I wanted to go ahead with the surgery. There was a section to say I understood there were alternatives to surgery. We both had a good laugh at that: “I think I’ve exhausted all of those 😂”
I took the final pictures of my diastasis that night. I didn’t sleep terribly, but I wouldn’t say I slept well. I was fasting from 4am (I set an alarm and took a protein bar just before) and no liquid after 8am.
I walked the 15 minutes to the hospital with Alex. He already knew - I wanted to carry my hospital bag as it would be the last time I was carrying anything for a while. I’m stubborn, but I had my reasons - I don’t like asking for help and if I can do it myself I will do. I was admitted at 10am. We went to a small waiting room until I was called. We waited only 15 minutes before they told me that this was it and we had to say our goodbyes then. That felt so strange, but I wasn’t at all nervous. Poor Alex looked a bit lost, but I felt pretty calm and definitely felt ready.
I was taken to a bay to get changed into a robe, compression socks and to give a urine sample. I was there just minutes, before a doctor started taking my medical history. I didn’t even have a chance to get changed once he left, as the next thing two nurses came to get my urine sample, take a blood sample and insert a cannula for my IV. Everything felt like it was happening at breakneck speed. I literally had questions about practically everything in my medical history being fired at me, as someone else took blood at the same time.
By the time that was done, I noticed everyone in the waiting area were being taken at different points and leaving the area we were in. What I didn’t realise was they were being taken along more or less for surgery. I don’t know what I expected, but I somehow thought I was going to be taken to another room to wait. I didn’t think the next part would be the holding area right next to the operating theatre!
I had absolutely no concept of time, but the last time I checked my phone it was 11:29 and at that point I was called. I knew my surgery had been scheduled for 1:30pm and I knew that meant nothing as such, but I had in my head I had ages to wait. When I was told this was the point I would be leaving all my stuff and this was it, I was pretty shocked. I was led to the holding area where they drew the curtain around me in a room full of patients waiting for surgery, just like I was. The only difference was, surely I had a while yet to wait?
The nurse came in to go through a final few things. She asked me had I been waiting long for surgery. In terms of that morning: no 😂 in terms of everything else: it felt like it. She patted my leg and told me it wouldn’t be much longer. I don’t know how I managed to stop myself asking, ‘how is this possible because everything seems to be happening so fast’ 🙈 I have absolutely no idea how long I was sitting there before Éilís came over. I was aware I could see lots of pairs feet under the curtain that were moving about and no doubt leaving for surgery. I could hear surgeons and anaesthesiologists alike speaking to patients and leading them away. Probably the thing that set me off was hearing someone at the desk in the room say something about, ‘Éilís Fitzgerald’s patient.’ It wasn’t me they were speaking about, but my heart rate hit the roof and I realised I had to chill the hell out if I was going to be sitting there, especially if it was going to be for some time yet. I tried to just close my eyes and take deep breaths to calm down. I think I actually even drifted off for a few minutes I was so successful 🤣
When Éilís came in, I honestly felt like it was a dream. Apart from the fact when I had dreamt about that moment in the months previously, it usually ended with me being told it wasn’t happening and I had to go away and put more work in 🙈 Thankfully, this was real this time and there was no going back. We spoke for a few minutes and she asked me if I had any last minute questions, but the answer was no. I don’t know why I felt so calm at that point. It’s hard to describe - yes the day felt like someone had pushed the fast forward button, and very surreal. However other than small moments in the lead up, I didn’t ever feel anxious or nervous. All I felt was calm and ready. This was absolutely what I wanted, with the person I wanted to do it, and I knew I was in the best hands. I had long made peace with decision that this was how my journey was going to end up. We were finally there.
I had a few more minutes to sit before they were ready for me, so I stayed where I was. I say a few more minutes, but I genuinely have zero idea of how long it was. The next thing I know, the nurse and the anaesthesiologist himself came over. I instantly liked him. He introduced himself as, “I’m the person who’s going to put you to sleep with some lullabies. Shall we go do that now?” He then apologised for the wait. I said to him, this is all happening a lot quicker than I expected. I really don’t feel like I’ve been waiting at all. “Oh we all feel bad you’ve been waiting so long.” It was crazy 😅 I genuinely felt like I was in the weirdest time warp. Everyone else thought I’d been waiting ages, but I felt like I hadn’t been waiting at all.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that I would walk out the holding room only to be one or two doors down into the operating theatre. Or that I would just casually walk in and then be told to hop up on the table 😅 At that point they placed the wee sticky pads on my chest for all the leads for the monitors and applied the compression pumps to my legs there and then.
I was trying to take everything in. I couldn’t quite believe even at that point that it was actually happening. I didn’t even feel nervous at all, but there was a real sense of relief and excitement. There were loads of people in the room getting ready behind me. I was aware of Éilís coming through the door to my right. The last thing I remember was the anaesthesiologist asking me the colour of the cannula, ‘pink to make the boys wink’ 😂 and then a pink mask being placed over my nose and mouth. I just remember that sweet smell of the mask that was the same as when I used gas and air in my first labour. I could feel the gas I was inhaling, and the nurse told me it was just oxygen, but I guess it probably wasn’t because I don’t remember anything else after that 😂 Either that or the timing of that was exactly at the same minute as I was given the knockout. Last time I trust someone that tells me that 🤣
My first memory was kind of coming to in recovery and thinking, ‘whoa I think I’m going to be sick’ and promptly retching. I wasn’t actually sick, but a doctor came over sharpish with a sick bag and then I was gone again. I just remember thinking, ‘bloody hell why do I have to go and test the abs straight away doing something like that 😂🙈’ I vaguely remember being told when I was going to be taken upstairs, but I felt like I was being pulled back under and couldn’t fight off the sleep. I remember being left in the room, but it was a colossal effort to keep my eyes open. The last thing I recall at that point was being aware of whoever was next me - the woman and her husband were speaking Spanish. I felt reassured that I must be okay, because I heard and understood everything they said (although if you ask me now I couldn’t tell you what they said!) I always thought I’d be the one waking up speaking Spanish under the influence of the painkillers, but it turns out I was just meant to be in the bed next door 😅
The next thing I realised my visitors were in the room. It took absolutely everything to force my eyes to stay open, but the fact that they were there I knew I wanted to be conscious. I still had absolutely no concept of time. They were only there a few minutes before Éilís came in. She could have told me absolutely anything and I would struggle to remember. What I do remember is her taking off the binder to let me look. I have no idea how I reacted or what I said. I’m guessing I shook my head in disbelief (because that’s still how I react now). Despite the fact my tissues were very stretched, somehow the quality of those tissues was actually very good for the sutures to take hold. There are no guarantees, but it’s likely the load I had put through them and the work I had put in which made the difference. I was told my diet was going to be changed due to the fact that she thought I might get really sick from anaesthetic because of the volume of it going through someone smaller framed like me. Somehow though, I managed to eat every meal I had and I didn’t retch again. I wasn’t at all sick and have no idea why. Maybe my body was just able to cope somehow.
I’ve spoken to a few people who said they had slept great the night of surgery, but I didn’t at all. Despite the painkillers and feeling like I was in a fog, my brain just wouldn’t switch off (no change there then) and of course the nurse came in regularly to see if I needed more pain relief so it felt like the night after I had each of my kids, where they just keep checking on you. That’s obviously so reassuring, and if I was asleep I wouldn’t have noticed, but I just didn’t sleep well for whatever reason.
In the morning, my catheter was taken out at 7am and I knew I’d be up and going to the toilet for my first walk. The nurse helped me the first time and I was immediately shocked at how straight I was able to stand without forcing it. I had expected the worse, so was pleasantly surprised when it just felt comfortable to stand almost straight. The nurses changed my bed when I came back because they said I was a query for staying another night, which was reinforced by the fact I was told to make another dinner choice. I knew most patients left the next day, so that was a bit confusing, but I put it down to my low blood pressure. If my blood pressure is anything, it’s always low. When I had my son, it was dangerously low the morning after given birth and I couldn’t stand. I knew it wasn’t as low the morning after surgery, but everyone remarked on it. ‘Is your blood pressure usually low?’ was a question I was asked by a couple of nurses and the physio.
When Éilís came in to check on her patients, she confirmed there would be no reason why I couldn’t leave that afternoon after showering etc. It sounded like I had been marked as a query to ensure if needed, the bed was there. That visit I remembered a bit better 😅 she took the binder off again to show me and said she was happy with how everything looked.
My nurse came back in and said she would change my belly button dressing after my shower. I managed to shower myself which I was surprised at, but so relieved. It just felt amazing to feel clean. My dressings were changed and I was then able to get dressed and put my binder back on myself. Of course, I was knackered by that time, so all I wanted to do was sleep. I was waiting on my prescription when Alex came in. The nurse read it out and I just remembered looking over at Alex thinking, that can’t be right. It sounded like the only painkillers I was being prescribed were paracetamol! Alex said, “Claire, when I had surgery on my hand I ended up with more than that, that can’t be right.” I asked Alex to get the nurse who had been with Éilís in the morning to ask her. Her face when I explained was an absolute picture! It turned out the doctor who had signed it hadn’t realised I had an abdominoplasty! 🙈 It was promptly corrected 😂 I can handle a lot, but wouldn’t have liked to be climbing the walls with the pain later thinking, why didn’t I say something?
The hospital physio visited me before I was discharged. It felt completely ironic if I’m honest. At the very beginning, we now know I should have been seen by a physio on the ward after having my son, and ever since then I’ve lucked out when it comes to physios. I couldn’t help but smile wryly at the fact I wasn’t being discharged post-op until I had been seen. She said my surgeon had told her I was pretty clear on everything I could and couldn’t do, but she just wanted to check coughing, breathing and log rolling. She readjusted the bed and when I log rolled, she told me I was really strong in doing it so she had no concerns. The coughing was no doubt the worst thing about being post-op. It is absolute agony, but a necessary evil to ensure I didn’t end up with a chest infection or worse post anaesthetic.
Before leaving, she took my blood pressure thinking she would get me to walk the corridors and then downstairs. I was game, but she decided because of my low blood pressure we wouldn’t do it. I felt able to, but this was day 1: there would be plenty time to test the waters when the time was right. She handed me a leaflet for post abdominal surgery and apologised: “you can’t do the majority on here anyway which I’m sure you know, but I mistakenly crossed out walking as well. You can walk and that’s it.” 😂
We were lucky to be staying across the road from the hospital. However, I was more than a bit mortified when Alex said he’d be taking me in a wheelchair to the apartment then would return it to the hospital. That led to a hell of an argument 🤣 but in the end I had no energy to fight him on it long enough to get my way and walk myself. I’ll probably never forgive him for making me do that. Talk about overprotective! I love him, but honestly I swear he insists on some things knowing how much it’ll wind me up!
I thought I’d struggle sleeping at night, but thankfully not. Although positioning myself took time, we got there eventually. Alex drove me crazy at times, but I can’t fault him as a nurse. He was on top of my painkillers and what I could take and when, did everything for me like dressing me, drying my hair and helping me clean my belly button. He cooked, brought everything to me and opened every door before I could even think of doing it. The odd time I slipped up, he gave me the hard stare that I’m pretty sure he reserves for me when I piss him off because, I’m ‘too stubborn.’ 🤣🙈
The second day I probably wanted to go out for a walk, but I was exhausted, and ended up napping on the couch. I hadn’t felt great that day so I listened to my body. While I was keenly aware of how everything felt like it was going better than I had expected, I knew I would now play a part in that in terms of what I was doing. The Monday after surgery, I went for a small walk and although I was walking a bit gingerly, I was pretty much straight when I was walking. I’m naturally a really fast walker, so to see Alex slow down for me was a reality check, but I knew I would get stronger at some point and wasn’t bothered how long it took, I was just grateful to be doing well.
That evening, I spotted my ankles were pretty swollen. I knew going to bed I would be immobile for the whole night and while I could have taken the compression socks off between days 3 and 5 post-op, I made the decision to keep them on at night. I also decided that on top of walking outside during the day, I would walk lengths of the long corridor in the evenings outside our apartment. Alex said it wasn’t quite 100m so I would do ‘there and back’ a few times. The first time I did 4 times, only for Alex to tell me it was quite quick so I decided to do more. Every night thereafter from then on, (with the exception of two nights when I was just too tired) I did 10 full lengths of the corridor which would take about 20 minutes (at the start) on top of any walk during the day. I wasn’t actively trying to do them quicker (Alex doesn’t believe that, but it’s true), but each time got quicker and easier. It gave me a bit of movement before bed, and equally some alone time and headspace to try and figure things out.
The next day was the only blip in my initial recovery. I noticed there seemed to be an infection at my belly button. I had been told that was really common given what belly buttons are, but I just knew it wasn’t quite right. When I explained how it looked over the phone, Éilís agreed it sounded infected and prescribed me antibiotics. I probably caught it a day earlier than maybe normal, as the next day it was red around it and looked more infected, but by that time I was already getting antibiotics into my system so thankfully, had no issues with a fever or anything else. I’ve always been hyper aware of everything going on at my tummy and that wasn’t about to change post-op. I think that’s probably why I caught it so early.
At 7 days post-op, I had my first physio consult. We discussed surgery and how I was doing and they had a look at my tummy. They both remarked how upright I was and how good it looked. I think Antony even commented I was looking ‘jacked.’ I have no idea what he was seeing, but I’ll take it 😅 The whole thing was surreal. I couldn’t believe a week had passed since that absolute blur of a day that would change my life forever. I still can’t get over it now.
The next day, Alex was leaving to swap with my Mum, who had been looking after Cailean and Emily since the Wednesday before. We had agreed it wasn’t fair on the kids to be away from both of us for so long, so Mum would come out as Alex went home. I would be on my own for about 5 hours, with Alex threatening to lock me in if he thought I was going to do anything that wasn’t allowed 🙄 I had suggested I would do my outdoor walk before my Mum arrived, but I had to compromise to my lengths of the corridor. Even then, he wasn’t happy I would be opening the apartment door myself. When he was leaving was the first time I got emotional. He had driven me crazy as I said, but I couldn’t have done it without him. Not just surgery - everything I had gone through in the last almost 4 years. He has been my rock throughout and I’m so lucky to have him.
I was probably a bit more emotional on my own between Alex leaving and my Mum arriving, so I was glad when she arrived a bit sooner than expected. During that week, I continued being able to walk more and for longer, but still listening to my body when I needed a rest.
The Monday after Mum arrived, was probably the most eventful. I thought my infection was getting worse - although that was based on how my belly button looked. It was decided that the way I cleaned it would change - no more antiseptic or ointment, just water and instead of a dressing, a panty liner inside my vest under the binder to ensure it was wicking any moisture away from the belly button. I was relieved - it previously felt like a never ending cycle where I would clean it, try to dry it as much as possible, but it would look worse again the following day when I took the dressing off.
My Mum had arrived in Dublin with conjunctivitis in both eyes, but it was steadily getting worse. I had no idea how to access doctors while we were there, but we ended up in an out of hours clinic at a nearby hospital. She had heard how awesome the doctors were and didn’t want to miss out 😂 That was probably the first time I was in close proximity to others outside of the shops in the waiting room without my jacket on. I watched two families with toddlers waiting to be seen. I’ve been that soldier many a time with my two. I suddenly thought they’re probably looking at me thinking I’m due a baby myself…only to look down and realise, “Nope. Nobody will think that ever again.” 🥹 It was the first time it hit me, but even then it felt like the feeling was barely scratching the surface.
My final appointment before going home was to get my dressings off at 12 days post-op. It was the weirdest feeling walking into the hospital and up to Éilís’ office, when the last time I had been there was my marking appointment the afternoon before surgery. I had taken paracetamol before just because I thought it would probably hurt. By that day, I had come off all painkillers and was only occasionally taking paracetamol - usually for a headache rather than anything to do with surgery. The dressings coming off wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but it was over quickly thankfully. It was the first time I got to see my scar and I know it seems strange, but I was delighted. It was the next big part of the puzzle post-op. When the nurse got me to look in the mirror once she had trimmed the sutures and cleaned it, I think I once again shook my head. I just couldn’t believe that that was what I looked like now. I still can’t. I was told the swelling below my belly button would go down and there were some cracking bruises, but I couldn’t care less if this is how it looked from now on. I’m over the moon and blown away the results. Compared to how I came into that office 13 days previously, it was night and day.
It was even harder to comprehend when the nurse took the photos and compared them to the very first consult last March 🤯 she put them side by side and said: “you can tell you’re fit and strong, but look at the difference.” I swear I feel like one of those Churchill dogs in those adverts that used to shake it’s head. I just cannot get my head round it.
Leaving the appointment though, I felt strange and I can’t really put into words how I was feeling. There was an air of finality creeping in again and I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t know the words to thank my surgeon and her team for everything they had done. How can you thank someone who has had such a profound impact on your life? Who has changed your life for the better? I still can’t comprehend that this is it. I still don’t feel any of this is really real. I don’t know how, or when that will change.
My team - my physios, my surgeon and of course my husband - want to protect me at the minute. I love them for it, but there’s no denying: no matter what we all do, there is a weight of expectation and I can’t ignore it forever. Even in the lovely comments on my first update post-op, I had incredible comments like: “the whole community are wondering how you’re getting on,” “the update we’ve been waiting on,” “lots of us interested having followed your journey,” and “can’t wait to see your next update”. Even that’s hard to believe. People have been following from the beginning and they want to see it through with me to the end. It blows my mind as much now, as it did in the beginning.
I came home to my kids and my husband two days after that appointment. My son has grown up with this as much as I have lived with it. There have been times he’s been fixated on my tummy, and he completely understood everything about it getting fixed by the time surgery came. It came as no surprise then, that every single day I FaceTimed him when I was away, he asked to see my tummy. When I eventually showed him, he was speechless, which is pretty impressive for an almost 4 year old, who never stops speaking! The poor wee guy couldn’t comprehend it either.
I know it might be hard to understand why I have shared everything over the years and now I have the biggest update of all, but I’m not ready to share yet. I’m really struggling with it myself. I don’t know how I feel about everything. That’s partly why I made the decision to release these blog posts first. I hoped that if I tried to process it by writing (which has always been my go to throughout this journey), maybe I could figure it out. I’m reluctant to see anyone I know yet. I was happy in my bubble in Dublin because no one knew me there. I could go out for a walk and be completely anonymous. I go out for a walk now feeling I might bump into someone. I don’t want to hide away forever, but I’m dealing with some huge emotions and thoughts right now, after what has been years of my life.
There is one thing for certain I do know in all of this - how even more incredibly lucky I am now. Not only do I have my amazing physios, I now have the most amazing surgeon. I knew that before she even laid eyes on me in person, but throughout all of this, that has just become clearer each time and of course, no more so than when I woke up post-op. Her skills as a surgeon were never in doubt; but they were the cherry on top of an incredibly kind, caring and supportive person who got me as a person, how I felt, and what I wanted to achieve from day 1. That is everything I could have asked for and more. As with everything I have experienced throughout, there will never be enough words to express my gratitude for what my team have done and continue to do for me.
I have videos and pictures from those early days post-op. I will post these when I’m ready. I know many women following are considering or are getting an abdominoplasty, and I know maybe something I share might help. Maybe even just as reassurance that if that’s the decision they’ve made, they won’t regret it.
I have never been ashamed of getting surgery. It was very clear to me, even as early as 2020, that it would be my only option. That was reaffirmed when I was opened up. There was just no way I could do it myself: no matter what I did and no matter how hard I tried, or how long I put in the work, and I know I did absolutely everything humanly possible to try.
When the time comes, I will be putting the same efforts into my final chapter of rehab. Whilst I know they wouldn’t agree, it’s the very least I owe my surgeon and my physios. Once again, so much time and effort has been put into me and I couldn’t not repay that the only way I truly can. Even then, that probably won’t ever be enough for everything they have done for me. 🍀🌟❤️
