Content warning: This post includes post-op images of my body after surgery. Nothing graphic, but it is real, healing skin.
The Part No One Prepares You For
Everyone talks about weight loss like it’s the finish line.
The numbers drop, the compliments roll in, and you’re supposed to feel like you made it.
But nobody really explains what happens after.
Because sometimes your body doesn’t catch up to your effort. Sometimes the weight leaves—but the evidence stays. And it’s not subtle. It hangs, it pulls, it reminds you every single day of who you used to be, even when you’ve already done the work to become someone else.
For me, that meant a panniculectomy—a surgical procedure that removes the excess skin and tissue (often called an “apron” or pannus) that hangs from the lower abdomen after significant weight loss.
Surgery Day: Weirdly…Easy?
April 7, 2025
I went in for my panniculectomy not really knowing what to expect, just knowing I needed it.
First of all—can we talk about the Bair Hugger??
This magical little contraption blew hot air into a blanket under my gown and I was immediately like…oh, I could live here. Cozy, calm, almost too comfortable for what was about to happen.
And then surgery itself?
Shockingly…easy.
Minimal pain, managed with Tylenol. They removed four pounds of skin from my lower abdomen.
Four pounds. Just sitting there, on me, every day.
From the second I saw the results, I could already tell—Dr. Pittelkow did a beautiful job.
Hospital Nights Are a Fever Dream
Recovery would’ve been peaceful if I had been alone.
I was not.
My first roommate was an angel. Loved her. My second roommate? Chaos demon.
She was having a rough time—like really rough. At one point she ripped tubing out of her nose and peed the bed. She snored, talked in her sleep, and sedation didn’t even touch it.
Meanwhile, I’m laying there wide awake, running on zero sleep, getting up to pee every ten minutes wondering how much fluid they pumped into me. By morning, I had a headache from hell, my stitches were irritated because my underwear shifted, and I was running on fumes.
But they said I could go home soon, so that felt like winning.
Motherhood Doesn’t Pause for Healing
Somewhere in all of this, reality hit:
I wasn’t supposed to lift my kids for six weeks.
Six weeks.
If you’re a mom, you already know—that’s not a real rule. That’s a suggestion written by someone who has never had a toddler reach for them.
I told myself I’d follow it this time. I did not follow it after my C-section, and I knew deep down I probably wasn’t going to follow it now.
Because healing is one thing, but motherhood doesn’t wait for you to catch up.
The Drains (aka The Actual Villains)
The surgery wasn’t the worst part.
The drains were.
If you know, you know—uncomfortable, constant, and annoying in a way that never lets you forget they’re there.
When they pulled the first one out on April 11, it was immediate relief. Night and day difference. The second one came out that following Monday, and I swear it felt like I could finally breathe again in my own body.
Weird feeling? Yes.
Worth it? Absolutely.
Post-Op Tip: Use a clothing hanger to hold your drains when you are showering. It makes the whole process way easier and less chaotic.
What Insurance Doesn’t Care About
Here’s the part that stings a little.
Insurance covered the panniculectomy—but only from side to side. Meaning everything on my back is still there.
And it’s not even about how it looks.
It’s uncomfortable.
Right now, I am, as my mom would say, a skeleton, so the excess skin rolling over my tailbone when I sit is awful. It’s something I feel constantly, something I can’t ignore, something that affects how I exist in my body day to day.
But because it’s labeled “cosmetic,” insurance refuses to cover it.
So now I’m trying to come up with the $11.5k to finish what I started. Because once you see what your body can feel like, you don’t want to stop halfway.
Healing Faster Than Expected
At my one-month follow-up, the doctor’s office looked at me like something didn’t add up.
They thought I was at a three- or six-month appointment. That’s how well and how quickly my body healed.
I don’t say that to brag. I say it because for so long, my body felt like something working against me. For once, it felt like we were on the same team.
The Confidence Shift (and the Unexpected Bonus)
Removing my pannis changed everything.
I don’t mean in a subtle, “I feel a little better” way. I mean life-changing.
The way clothes fit, the way I move, the way I exist in front of a mirror—it all shifted.
But the biggest, most unexpected win?
The chronic yeast infection I had in my belly button…gone. Completely gone.
Something I had dealt with since high school just resolved.
It’s wild how much of your daily discomfort you normalize until it’s suddenly not there anymore.
The Small, Soft Moments
In the middle of all of this—pain, drains, exhaustion, chaos—there was this quiet moment that stuck with me.
My stepdad came to visit me in the hospital and brought me a teddy bear from his fire station.
It was such a small thing, but also not small at all.
Because in a moment where my body felt fragile and stitched together and in-between versions of itself, someone showed up for me. Softly. Thoughtfully. No expectations. Just love.
If You’re Considering It…
Do it.
If you’re living with excess skin that’s affecting your comfort, your health, your confidence, this isn’t vanity. It’s relief. It’s closure. It’s finally letting your outside match the work you’ve already done on the inside.
There are parts of the journey that suck—the drains, the sleep, the healing, the frustration with insurance.
But on the other side of it, you get to meet your body again.
And this time, it feels like yours.
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