>As the stitch from my surgery wends it ways out of my body 7 ½ years after it was sewn into me, I cannot help but to reflect on the experience (again). I have to say that had I known in advance that I had to be totally naked during the surgery, I may have postponed it, although I was pretty desperate to get the load off my shoulders, so maybe I would not have delayed any further.

Anyway, when I arrived at the hospital for my surgery at the crack of dawn, I expected that I would be wearing my undies during the surgery. After all, the surgery was on my boobies, but they asked me to strip completely. What?!?! Why would my cooch need to be exposed to the OR? It turns out that my cooch needed to have a catheter shoved in it since I would be under general anesthesia. In retrospective, of course, this makes perfect sense. At the time, I was beyond mortified. I mean, (and we all know what the answer is here), who the hell wants a bunch of strangers knowing her business? I was pretty fucking embarrassed.

Today, thanks to the wisdom of Dr. P, I know that everyone who goes under will be totally naked, regardless of type of surgery, just in case something goes wrong and they need to do other shit fast to save you and your new small boobies. Also, and I may be making this up since my memory stinks and I can’t always distinguish something that someone actually told me or that I really read from something that I dreamed, you don’t want your undies catching on fire if they use the defibrillator on ya, especially is they are not cotton and the synthetic fabrics would melt. Knowing these risks, I feel better knowing that my crotch exposé was not because the surgeon was a gross weasel who had a fetish for snatches with catheters in them.