Tummy tuck for seniors

I'm a 39 year old female. Back story: was in a relationship for 16 years, 2 kids 20 and 13 y/o. We separated 9 years ago. I have had 1 relationships since that was on and off for 3 years. I didn't date for years because wanted to focus on raising my kids. I'm the only parent in the picture (unfortunately) I'd say I'm a hard 7 maybe an 8 (?). I own my own home, and financially stable with a decent career and a 6 figure income. I never get asked out like never, never even hit on. I do have a few online dating apps but have been unsuccessful even landing a date. I don't understand what's going on. I would like a long term relationship but at this point I'll take anything I can get. I do prefer that a potential partner have his life in order I don't want to date someone I'd have to take care of. I do desire a taller partner, in decent shape nothing crazy. know looks aren't everything but I feel l'm not that bad looking. I do want to have a couple producers, tummy tuck, breast maybe facial things fixed. What could I be doing wrong? I'm starting to believe im going to spend my life alone and im kinda okay with that but I think it may be nice to have company. Being I have been single for so long I may have some masculine traits, don't like asking or receiving help. Any advice is so far appreciated.
Tl;dr

55F /150 pounds 5'3". I have a very complicated medical health history and I'm not sure how much this will pertain to my question, so in the interest of brevity, I'll leave it out but I'm happy to answer follow up questions.
I am scheduled to get a robotic assisted, laproscopic hysterectomy on Friday. I will likely stay in the hospital 1 night as I am high risk for clots/bleeding. 3 months ago, I had a tummy tuck with muscle repair and I am still experiencing muscle soreness and a lot of abdominal swelling. My abdomen is rock hard. I am unsure of how much this prior surgery will contribute to post operative pain.
My question- after this type of surgery is it common to prescribe just 3 days of narcotic pain meds? Even the pharmacy seemed very surprised that I'd get so few doses for a hysterectomy.
I don't have any problems with addiction, in fact I don't tolerate narcotics well at all and I have always weaned off of them for prior surgeries as soon as possible.
I realize that there is an opiod epidemic in the US, but I'm honestly terrified that I won't have the relief that I need. I tried discussing this with my doctor after he told me he'd prescribe just 2 days worth and he relented and gave me 3 days.
I have several family members who have had this surgery and a girl friend who recently recovered and they got weeks of pain relief. 3 days seems overly conservative to me and the thought that I may be in agony afterward with no relief is giving me terrible anxiety.
For the record, I have had open, abdominal surgery and several other surgeries and I have never been offered so little for pain relief.
I know that we all heal differently and pain tolerance differs from person to person, but I don't know if I should cancel the surgery so that I can find another surgeon.
I have called the nurses line to discuss this a few times and also met with my doctor yesterday. I feel like I am just a pain in the ass at this point and they are going to stop taking my concerns seriously, if they haven't already.
Am I out of line to expect better pain control? I will get 12 doses total. Is that realistically going to be enough? I may be able to spread those doses out to cover another day, but I feel like I shouldn't have to fight so hard to have my pain controlled?
Edited to add: I meant to say that I don't expect the same pain control as I'd get for an open, abdominal surgery, but thought that I'd at least be covered for a week or so.
Also, I am unable to take NSAIDs as I am on blood thinners.

Hello! I (31f) really want a tummy tuck. I am 5’8. My highest weight was 350 and I am down to and stuck at 270. I have a lot of excess stomach skin, under arm, and body skin for years. My stomach skin gets in the way of some work outs and greatly effects my life . I don’t know if I’ve just been super unlucky but I’m having a very hard time finding a doctor who will perform surgery on me due to my high BMI. I have contacted probably 8-10 plastic surgery providers across a few states and I always get the standard BMI response. Keep up the good work but let me know when your BMI is under blah blah. Or suggesting ozempic (not an option for me right now). I understand the risks of surgery at my size. I really do. I just do not think I will be able to lose anymore weight until I lose the skin etc that’s holiding me back. I had one doctor previously estimate the weight of my excess skin at around 30lbs just to give an idea. Since I don’t feel comfortable posting photos.
Can anyone recommend a plus-size friendly/high BMI reputable tummy tuck surgeon? I am located in Pacific Northwest but I will travel if I need to. I really appreciate any and all help 💗

Hey yall, I'm making a tier list with EVERY X song on it, not just released but also obscure leaks and unreleased. I'm taking it step by step slowly covering all of his songs into the massive tier list with the 16th ranking being X and ski songs!. if I miss something or u disagree with a ranking lmk and I might change the position next post.
I’m pretty sure these are all of the X and Ski collabs I haven’t ranked yet, if I missed one pleasssssse tell me lol (I’m not counting selfish with ski since it’s obviously not completed with his verse, I’m gonna be ranking another version of that song later)
IWATCHEDHIMDROWN - S tier. Hard asf, ski starts the song off smooth asf and X just elevates it to perfection
ILOVEITWHENTHEYRUN - S tier. ANOTHER hard asf track, hook is excellent, everyone does great even yung bans, X screaming makes it S tier tho.
SPACEGHOSTPUSSY - A+ tier. Amazing diss track, Denzel to X transition was godly. Low key ski brings the energy down, but it’s still amazing.
Save yourself! - A tier. Great track, could use a lil more energy but still fire.
GnarlyGuyAnthem (Hell Version) - S tier. I love X’s high pitched voice, ski is also fire as fuck, hard as fuckkkk
GnarlyGuyAnthem (og) - S tier. the normal-pitched version of the song, fire as fuck I wish X used this flow more often, it’s one of my fav songs by them, tied with the hell version but probably a bit better.
Netflix and Chill - S tier. I’m ranking the high quality version with hotboycaleb, it’s fire as fuck the beat is hard too, X and ski do fucking amazing as always and the hook is pretty good too.
GANG CYPHER FREESTYLE - B+ tier. An older song, CARRIED BY X, ski does good too but the others kinda bring it down so I can’t rank it higher :(
take a step back - S tier. Classic X and ski rave song, gets me lit every time listening to it fr
Ghost busters - A+ tier. Infinitely times better than the version on trippies album lol, quavo is hard, ski has one of his hardest verses, and X just goes nuts as always.
Tier list (song to the left of list = better song) S tier = perfect songs A - A+ tier = amazing songs B - B+ tier = good songs C tier = mid D tier = bad
S tier: Guardian Angel, hope, WingRiddenAngel, KING, alone part 1, NEVER, Jocelyn Flores, let's pretend we're numb, I dont wanna do this anymore, i dont let go, train food, teeth (interlude), yung bratz, i spoke to the devil in miami he said everything would be fine, Look at me!, Ayala (outro), vice city, IWATCHEDHIMDROWN, infinity (888), king of the dead, rare, Netflix and chill, gnarlyguyanthem (og), gnarlyguyanthem (hell version), moonlight, woah (mind in awe), slipknot, freddy vs jason, pain = BESTFRIEND, IGOTPLENTYDICKTOSHARE, ILOVEITWHENTHEYRUN, valentine, SAD!, take a step back
A+ tier: white girl, rare part 2, save me (MOV2), RIP ROACH, very rare forever freestyle, bowser, ecstacy, everybody dies in their nightmares, snow, 777, HEARTEATER, fuck love, revenge, going down!, LIMBO, UP LIKE AN INSOMNIAC, curse, changes, NETHERRACK, make eem run!, restinpussy, carry on, SPACEGHOSTPUSSY, ghost busters, ALONE PART 3, you're thinking too much stop it, Ice Hotel (intro), daemons, the remedy for a broken heart
A tier: Dead inside (interlude), looking for a star, broly, the fall, eat it up, A GHETTO CHRISTMAS CAROL, ghost, wanna grow old (I won't let go), Red Light!, indecision, skin, save yourself!, love yourself (interlude), I AM!, gassed up!, THE ONLY TIME I FEEL ALIVE, I LUv My CLiQuE LiKe KaNyE WeSt, ATTENTION!, planet drool, UGLY, ex bitch, triumph, theresanelephantinthisroom, sauce!, $$$, LUNACY, ITS ALL FADING TO BLACK, hate will never win, BAD!, NUMB, 0C3AN, sounds of a melting pot, difference (interlude), Butthole Girl!, news/flock
B+ tier: i dont even speak spanish lol, FUXK, One Minute, MANIKIN, supra, STARING AT THE SKY, floor 555, schizophrenia, h2O, touch eem body, depression and Obsession, bitchcallmecaptainmorgan, Orlando, GANG CYPHER FREESTYLE, DEAD, failure is not an option interlude, BLOOD STAINS, a message to Tina belcher, Off the wall!, palm trees
B tier: Amy winehouse, save yourself!, boost!, what in XXXTarnation, bad vibes forever, SMASH!, fuckabitchface, maxipads for everyone, i changed her life, GXD DAMN, the interlude that never ends, whores on the boards, INUYASHA, TUMMY TUCK, northstar, school shooters, static shock, hi wendy!, save me, came2kill, find me (intro), before i close my eyes, VERYRAREBOYZ, LEAVE, voss, what are you so afraid of, royalty, numb the pain
C tier: kill my vibe, XXX (intro), before I realize, CHASE / glass shards, FUCK V2, hot gyal, M011Y
If u guys disagree with anything make sure to comment, this is a discussion post :) what should I review next

I had lipo about a year ago and left me with some loose skin but I noticed that most of it is above the belly button so I thought a reverse tummy tuck would be better for me. I’ve done a little research on finding a good doctor but I haven’t found much:/

After losing 120 lbs I'm looking to get a tummy tuck and breast lift ("mommy makeover" with no kids) I went to one surgeon yesterday and got an estimate for both procedures and he had no issue combining them. I called another surgeon today because I like the before/after photos of her procedures, particularly the tummy tucks. However when I booked the consult the woman on the phone said she doesn't do multiple procedures at the same time and that sort of bothers me. Is that weird? Would it even be worth splitting the surgeries since I'd be paying double on the hospital fees? The consult fee alone is $250 but it does go towards the surgery costs if I go with her.

Just excited and needed to post about it.
I finally scheduled my breast augmentation yesterday after having it approved for prior auth by insurance last week. Now I have all my desired surgeries lined up outside of one.
The schedule is:

• End of July, tummy tuck / body contouring
• Start of October, breast augmentation
• Start of December, FFS

I’m still waiting for a date for my orchiectomy, which I already had a consult for (but the place I was referred is super slow moving), but it will probably be early next year. It just feels so much better knowing there is a plan in place and it’s not far off.

I’m looking to have tummy tuck, breast lift and implants and possibly lipo. I can go anywhere for this, however I am really struggling to know how to go about it. I am originally from UK which I understand to have high standards of care, but I’m currently in SE Asia so anywhere is a possibility and I can stay for longer than the operation to receive the after care etc. I have looked at Turkey, Bali, thailand and UK so far, the language barrier and potential to be ‘scammed/botched’ worries me and I’d rather pay more for peace of mind. How can I find a surgeon who specialises in mommy make overs? Any help or advice regarding countries or even surgeons would be much appreciated!

In 3 years?- Ali at 30 y/o. Tummy tuck and bottom veneers yet? Or 4th baby? Kids in a REAL school or no?
In 10 years? Both looking 55+.. multiple lawsuits? Jail time for child abuse?
Let’s hear your predictions

I have always had troubled skin, I scare very easily even with proper care. I have my surgery on the 22th of july and my boyfriend (35y/o pro bodybuilder) has told me I could use small dosis of hGH to help my skin healing process. I have searched it up online and it’s apparently used for cosmetic reasons and healing properties, but I haven’t found anything about tummy tuck scarring. My bf could find me reliable sources of it and help me inject it because he is been doing it himself for 15 years.
I know the easiest thing would be to ask directly to my doctor, but I am from Spain, and here in Europe this kind of drugs are even more demonized than in the US, and I am afraid to be dismissed directly.
Also, and something very important to note in my opinion, in Europe there is not such innovations on cosmetic surgery as in the US, for example I have never been talked about silicone tapes for scars and I have talked with 12 doctors until I found The One, so I want to try to do the most for my skin to heal nicely.
Also, if you have any tips about scarring that you want to share it would be more than welcomed. I have read lots of posts here and did a list on everything but I will not stop adding thing until the surgery!

Hi I’m about to have my second child and I want a little mommy makeover soon. I consider traveling to Korea or Japan cause I heard they have good surgeons. Anyone got it done there? Or is it cheaper to do it in the Us? What can I expect to pay for mini tummy tuck,lipo and breast implants?

I (18m) recently got quoted 11k for a genioplasty. Im not sure if tahts a little too much due to another surgeon quoting me for 6k. The only difference would be one is known for maxillary surgery while the later is a plastic surgeon whos known more for his tummy tuck. It will be a 7mm movement so Im not sure if it's worth the 11k

Wondering who are the best Surgeon who does Tummy Tucks and Skin removals after losing significant amount of weight in the Chicago area?
Would appreciate any good recommendations since I’m thinking of getting surgery done after losing 100lbs. Don’t wanna go to anyone who will screw me over in the surgery and the after results.
I’m a Male 26yr old just for context.

Hey everyone,
I’ve spent the last couple months overhauling my work attire to be a little more formal (got too used to quarter zips/sweaters during hybrid work). Keep in mind my office is far from a formal environment, but at least I’ve gone from jeans/loose trousers to tapered Lululemon ABC trousers and slim fit, tucked in shirts. It’s made a big difference as I’m gunning for a senior director role and folks have comments more times than I can count (perhaps a testament that I dressed like shit before lol).
I’ve turned my attention to shoes and my thus far I’ve been wearing Amberjack dress shoes and Chelsea boots. Kicker is that I travel a lot for work, as in 3-4 cross country (6 hour) flights a month between offices. For this reason the Amberjacks seems liked a good option and have been thus far.
Looking for a pair of slip ons and curious if anyone has tried both the Amberjack slip on or Thursday Lincoln?
https://thursdayboots.com/products/mens-lincoln-penny-loafer-rich-mahogany
https://www.amberjack.shop/collections/the-slip-on/products/the-slip-on-obsidian

I had a full tummy tuck in 2022. At the time I was close to 200lbs with a Waist 36. I had anxiety and PTSD. And anxiety created a space where I started to worry about it all the time and obsessed with working out and eating. This led to chronic constipation because now that I have a new stomach I wasn't used to being full or what to eat with a smaller stomach or the portion size and so it put me on a slippery slope that led to a hernia surgery in in 2023 (due to pushing too hard) which led to an endoscopy and colonoscopy in 2004 too ensure I had no polyps or other internal issues. It turns out I had mild diverticulosis which led to flare-ups where my stomach was inflamed with this stabbing pain on the underside of my belly button and the right side of my intestines whenever I would get full and or stressed. I wasn't sure if this was abdominal adhesions or a nerve ending pain at the umbilicus. So I have a gastrointestinal specialist who put me on linzess and miralax and Tylenol to mitigate the issues while I do bland foods for a couple days. And she wants me to do low fiber foods on the FODMAP diet. I also stopped doing processed sugar 5 days ago so outside of fruit and maybe a little bit of honey. I'm doing what I need to do but still the stabbing pain is preventing me to want to eat or I'm starving myself and I want food. I love food but when it hurts to drink water or eat small amounts of food, that's an issue. I'm not a depressed person but today I feel depressed and lethargic and on top of that I tried to do coffee or cold brew and it just makes me feel crappier later and dehydrated. Am I allowed? Does anybody else ever feel this way?

Hey everyone! I back again with some more funny shenanigans with our good pals Lerson and Silversmith. Thank you all for the great feedback for the last chapter, it really made my day. I'm excited to hear what you all think about this next one. Hope you all enjoy!
And again a special thanks to SpacePaladin15 for the NoP universe! __________
[First] [Next] __________
Memory Transcription Subject: Lerson, Undercover Farsul Date [standardized human time]: October 24, 2136
How did I get here? Just yesterday I was running for my life through the forest on this backwater planet and now I am sitting in the back of a vehicle with a predator, who thinks that I am some kind of hunting beast. Well… what do I do now?
The first part of my plan went off without a hitch. The simple minded predators had not realized I was not one of their slave beasts, so they released me from their holding pens. However, I am now trapped in a car right alongside my new predatory master.
Maybe I could try to take it down. It doesn’t seem particularly dexterous at least compared to the other predators I have seen. It is not looking at me now, so I would have the upper hand, but it is nearly twice my size. I will probably have to hold out for a little bit longer before I make my move.
I am suddenly pulled from my thoughts when the predator in the front seat begins to growl, “Car, can you bring me to the pet store, please?”
‘Pet Store,’ what is that? My translator says that it is a place for the sale of animals. Is it going to sell me already? Maybe I am just being sent to my new prison. My heart races as I watch the vehicle begin to slow down and come to a stop in front of the building. The elderly predator gets out of the vehicle and walks around to the door next to me. Oh no! This isn’t part of the plan. I thought I was finally out of that place, but now I am just about to get locked up again. The door opens.
“Okay bud, we’re gonna get you some things,” it said. Huh. I am not getting sold? The predator grabbed the end of the rope around my neck and beckoned me out of the vehicle. I chose to oblige and we slowly made our way towards the nearby building.
It was a small structure that looked like it was in disrepair. It makes sense that the predators would not upkeep their buildings all they care about is killing and eating. I was surprised to find that they even have buildings to begin with.
The old one pushed the door open, which produced a soft jingle as we walked in. First thing I noticed was the intense smell. It was almost overwhelming with how many different scents there were. Looking around the aisles of the shop were very narrow and the shelves were packed with different items. “Um, so the lady at the shelter suggested that I get food, bowls, a bed, and… I don’t really remember what else. That’s probably fine to begin with, we can always come back later.”
We walked down one of the narrow aisles, which had dozens of bags of ‘kibble.’ My translator says it is “ground meal shaped into pellets, especially for pet food.” That does not sound very appetizing. The predator stops and starts looking through the different options. I also start to look around. The bag nearest to me has an ingredients list. Luckily I opted for the built in visual translator. Scanning the ingredients it contains mostly different grains and other fillers, which is surprising from predator food, but it also lists ‘animal byproducts’ which sounds horrifying. I guess whatever the Terrans do not end up eating gets tossed to the lesser predators.
“Let’s get this one. It says it’s for ‘senior’ dogs. Ha! That’s something we’ve go in common”
Really?! Do I look that old to everyone? By the Tenants, maybe I need to dye my fur after I get out of this mess. We continued going around the store picking up items until we got to the counter near the front.
Speaking to the predator behind the counter my ‘master’ says, “Good afternoon Bobby. How’s everything going?”
The young predator behind the counter responds, “Not too great, Mr. Silversmith.”
“Oh. I spose that was a bad question to ask, sorry.”
“It's okay sir, there is just a lot going on. I’m glad that my parents and I are all fine, being out here in the country, but my brother works in the city and we still don’t know if he’s alright.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope for the best.”
“Thank you. Now what can I do for you?”
“Oh I’m just buying some supplies for old Buddy over here,” he gestures down to me.
The clerk looks over the counter towards me, “Uh… Mr. Silversmith…” The old predator cuts him off, “I know he aint the best lookin’, but can’t say much about myself either, so I don’t need to hear it.”
“Sure… Well… let me ring that all up for you then.”
Spekh! That one has to know, right? Perhaps these predators are not as dense as I thought and the one I got is just really stupid. Well at least that helps my plan, but I will still have to be careful around other Terrans.
The old one finishes paying and we head back down to the vehicle and it drives off. After about [~34 minutes] we reach what I think is the elderly predator's den.
It is at the end of a very long dirt roadway, tucked among the trees, that I see the structure. Just like the pet shop it is a small building made out of simple materials like wood and stone. I suppose the predators really are as primitive as I thought.
The vehicle comes to a halt next to the building and the old one steps out. After he opens my door, I step out of the vehicle as well. I follow him to the entrance of the den, which is a simple wooden door painted bright red. And if I remember correctly that is the color of blood on this planet. So savage!
Upon entering, the interior looks very similar to the outside with wood adorning the walls and floors. Though I was surprised how similar the layout was to the living quarters back at the guild. The room at the entrance looked to be some kind of lounging room with a small couch and rug in the center of the room facing a screen mounted on the opposite wall. To the left of the door was what I could only assume was a kitchen with storage cabinets covering the walls.
The elderly predator returned to the car to retrieve the items it purchased at the ‘pet shop,’ which makes this the best time to do some sleuthing. I made my way past the lounge room into the depths of the den. Past the entrance room was a hallway leading further back. It was adorned with photographs filled with predatory snarls. I did my best to ignore them and worked my way further down the hall.
Up ahead there was a door and upon opening it I found a room which, by the smell of it, must be a lavatory. That really reminded me that I had to go to the bathroom. My cell did not even have a waste pit. I made my way quickly into the room and relieved myself with haste. Once I finished I thought about flushing the ‘evidence,’ but that’s when I heard the front door open again, so I was forced to hurry out of the room.
“Hey Bud! Where did you go?” it growled from the other room. I made my way back to the entrance as quickly as I could manage on all fours. “There you are. So do you like the place?” the predator asked. I did not respond and just looked towards it. “Ha ha, great!” it growled. I did not say anything?
“So I got your food and water bowls over here. Let me go fill them up. You’ve gotta be hungry.”
It walked over to the kitchen with the bowls in hand and filled one with water from the sink. The other bowl, the predator filled with the ‘kibble’ from earlier. Then it placed them both on the floor. It looks like the food situation might not be any better than my previous arrangement at the holding pen.
“Well, I spose I should eat dinner as well.”
It opened the large metal cabinet and began looking through it. I snuck a little closer to get a better look. When I approached I could feel the chill coming off of it, so I could assume that it was some kind of refrigerators unit. Must not be that primitive I suppose. After a bit of scrounging around the refrigerator, the elderly one pulled out a clear plastic container. It was green on the inside. Is it really going to eat rotten flesh!? I guess that is expected of a predator.
As it opened the container I braced my nose for the putrid smell of rotten flesh, but it never came. I watched as the predator poured out leafy greens into a bowl. Huh, a predator is eating plants?
Wait, I do remember that during the Terran’s deceptive talk at Aafa, they had said they were [all-eaters]. I guess that must be true. Watching it eat the greens is making me even hungrier than I was before.
I watched as the elderly predator finished its salad. It brought the bowl and utensils to the sink to begin washing them. I waited in the corner of the kitchen for him to finish and leave. My stomach was killing me and I could only think of the amazing taste of a crisp salad. Finally the predator finished his task and turned away from the sink. It looked towards me and then at the bowls on the floor. “Aren’t you hungry boy? You haven’t touched your food at all… I hope you’re alright. Maybe I need to take you to the vet tomorrow?”
Vet? My translator says that that means ‘animal doctor.’ Even though the average human is pretty oblivious, a doctor will be sure to realize that I’m not really a ‘dog.’ I can not let this Terran take me there. I know what I have to do, but I do not like it. I steel myself as I walk over to the bowl and stare down at its contents. Am I really going to do this? You have to! So, I lower my head and bite down on a mouthful of ‘kibble.’
It… is not that bad? I honestly expected worse.
I suppress the thoughts of the ‘animal byproducts’ in it and swallow. Immediately I wash out my mouth with the water in the second bowl. Then I turn to look at the human who is now snarling at me. I freeze. Did I do something wrong? Did it figure me out?!
“There you go. Ha ha. I was worried for a second there.”
What? Is it happy that I ate? Then why is it snarling at me? Maybe maybe that means that it is happy? These predators are so weird. At least it seems like I have avoided detection once again. Nailed it!
The old predator, having been satisfied, let out a yawn revealing all its sharp teeth… well… most of them were surprisingly quite dull. “Okay bud it's getting late, so I think it's time for me to turn in, but let me get you your bed first,” it said. Reaching into the biggest bag from the pet shop the elderly predator pulled out a round fluffy bowl. It looks similar to beds I saw when working on the Iftali and Sulean homeworld, though this one is a lot smaller. It placed the bed down in the living room next to the couch.
It paused, “Oh wait. I should probably take you outside before turning in for the night. Don’t want a mess in the morning, come on.”
I follow the predator as instructed, wondering what it wants me to do now. It leads me out a side door into a grassy area. “Okay… do your business,” it said.
What? Does it want me to do something? I just look around seeing if there's anything to give me any clues.
“I guess that didn’t work. Go potty.”
What?! Is it commanding me to defecate?! Outside! I guess he does think I am an animal. But there is no way I am doing that especially with it watching me. Why is it watching? Is it some kind of pervert? Grr, Screw the plan!
“Okay… uh… I guess come back in when you’re done,” it says as it turns to walk back to the house.
Thank the Tenants! I wait [a few minutes] and then slip back into the predator’s den. On my return it spots me, “Oh good you’re back!”
It walked over to the side door and locked it. Then the predator shuffled to wall switches and turned off most of the lights. Thankfully it left a singular lamp turned on. It is already bad enough that I am stuck in a predator's den, but being in the dark with a predator would be too much even for me.
“Okay goodnight bud, see you in the morning,” said the old one. Then right as it entered the hall it stopped and looked down at a nearby table, “Good night Ella. Good night Ben. Good night Martha.” Then it walked out of sight.
Who was he talking to? Are there other predators here? I don’t smell anyone else and I think I would have heard them earlier. Spekh! Did I get a crazy one?
Okay craziness aside, I need to eat some real food. I finally stood upright. Ah my back! It was already getting bad enough when I was back home. Hopefully I can get used to this because walking on all fours is killing me right now.
I walk over to the refrigeration unit and slowly open the doors trying to stay quiet. Looking around the inside I am surprised to find so many vegetables. However, I did spot a slab of flesh towards the back, which I did my best to ignore.
Now, I can not just eat anything, it might notice if food is missing. Scrounging around for a [minute] my eyes eventually find a plant in one of the lower drawers. It looks like a big bundle of large leaves. I take it out and pry off one of the ones on the outside. It comes off relatively easily with a crunch. Hopefully this is edible. I bring the leaf to my mouth and bite down. It makes a very satisfying crunch as a do. There really is no distinct taste, but I am so hungry that I don’t even care if it is bland.
I scarfed down the rest of the leaf quickly and then grabbed another and then another. Before I knew it, the bundle was only a third of the original size. So much for being sneaky. Finally satisfied, I returned what remained of the bundle to its proper place and closed the refrigerator doors.
After finishing my raid on the refrigerators, I thought about what the old predator had said earlier. I walked over to the table near the entrance to the hallway. There must be something interesting here. However, there was nothing but a handful of photographs. Looking at them in the dim light I was able to make out the wide snarls that adorned the faces in the photo. I guess It makes more sense now since the snarl is a ‘happy’ expression. It is still very strange to me.
The photo closest to the front had the old predator standing next to a much younger predator, which appeared to be wearing Terran military pelts. Strangely, the young one has very bright orange hair on the top of its head.
Next to that one there was a similar photo, but the old predator looked slightly younger. The other Terran in the photo looked similar to the first. They did share the same bright orange hair, but the enlarged mammaries indicated that this one was a female.
I then spotted another picture including the same female, but this time she was next to a different predator and she was holding a Terran pup, which had the same orange hair. Perhaps the female was the mother of the other one. Most of the other photos appeared to be different combinations of the same four predators: the old one, his offspring, his offspring’s mate, and then their pup.
I moved over to the other side to see if I could find anything more useful. There was a photo that stood out to me. It pictured the old one, but he looked significantly younger even more than the other photos. Standing next to him was a female, which had the same orange hair as the others. Who was this? I had not seen it in any of the other pictures.
I searched around to see if I could find any more with this female in it. Towards the back I saw two pictures next to each other. The one on the left had the female again with the old predator. Laying in a bed she was cradling a newborn pup in her arms. However, the photo on the right was the old one with the pup in its arms. The pup appeared to be a year or two older in this one, but where was the mother? Looking at the older predator I saw the look in his eyes. I know that look. Cerci…
No! They are predators! They are not like us! You know they can not think like us! It's not the same!
Grr, you are tired… just… just go rest. I walk over to the bed. I curl up and try to let sleep take me. __________
[First] [Next] __________
So much for being comedic and lighthearted. I promise that the rest of it won't be so depressing, but I wanted to add a little more substance to some of the characters. Thanks again for reading! Feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions, I really appreciate it.

Hi all!
My bestie (38F) lost 100lbs recently and is getting a tummy tuck and her arms done at the same time. I’m going to be her caregiver for 2 weeks post op… please give me all the tips! ◡̈ TIA

Reflecting on 2021, truly marked the zenith of my young career. The pandemic was coming to an end, I was fresh from the hallowed halls of a prestigious but unheralded college, thrust into the corporate labyrinth where, as a mere sidekick to the big shots, I contributed to a deal of record-breaking magnitude. My modest corporate minion life was exaggerated into legend by my professors during an alumni reunion, leading to a rather embarrassing episode where I was paraded around as the poster child of their education career’s success. My parents, not ones to shy away from a bit of pomp, lauded my achievements to anyone within earshot.
But as 2022 unfurled its chaos with the epidemic, my professional life spiralled downwards as swiftly as it had risen. I was laid off, and replaced by a nepotistic hire—my boss's new mistress's nephew. During my dismal final days, my colleagues, once comrades became corporate sharks, whispers of them scheming to claim my last efforts as their own filled the empty office spaces.
Compelled by financial duress to abandon my central city dwelling, I relocated to the outskirts with two college mates, Jaz and Kath, who had similarly found themselves victims of the economic downturn. We settled into apartment 606, a unit with dubious charm, suspiciously affordable on the 13th floor of a dreary building, its corridor haunted by a flickering sensor light that was only designed to function on rare occasions. Yet, the apartment itself was surprisingly very well furnished, almost like something that jumped out from a design mag, out beating sample rooms in Ikea, boasting a spacious balcony, a living room ready for an impromptu soirée, a dining table that’s good enough to hold a banquet(became our co-working space) and a kitchen isle that became our sanctuary and curse.
When we first settled into our new abode, we discovered a trove of fine kitchen utensils, perfect for whipping up sophisticated cuisine and crafting cocktails worthy of a swanky soirée. Tucked away in the fridge, among the remnants of the previous tenants' life, was a quaint note: “The three of us really enjoyed our stay here, especially our meals and nights spent by the kitchen island. We hope you find as much joy in it as we did. Use it well.” With a casual flick of my wrist, I dismissed the note into the garbage can, oblivious to the depth of its seemingly innocuous message. Little did I know, that piece of paper was more a passing of the torch than a simple goodbye.
Our initial days in apartment 606 brimmed with camaraderie and impromptu celebrations: movie nights sprawled on the living room sofas, barbeque dinners under the stars on our balcony, and co-working sessions at the dining table, peppered with resume tweaks and contemplative conversations over cocktails. We even scored a second-hand karaoke machine, allowing me to channel my inner diva—a throwback to my musical theatre days in college and my stint as the voice of corporate presentations and negotiations at my previous job, where I was known for my resonant yet finely tuned voice.
Yet, as the months wore on and the job market remained unyielding, our early merriment slowly surrendered to a creeping anxiety. The kitchen island, once the heart of our home where laughter and shared meals flowed freely, gradually morphed into the epicenter of our collective unease, bearing silent witness to the quiet desperation settling over us.
One evening, in the suspiciously affordable yet stylish apartment, I sank into the sofa, my spirits dampened by my favorite team's disheartening loss. The mood was grim, mirroring my fears of my beloved player's potential retirement at season's end. Later, as we congregated around the kitchen island for dinner, I transformed into an impromptu sports commentator, passionately preaching about the game’s disappointing details that led to failure and my favorite player’s fine qualities. Meanwhile, Jaz updated us on a friend's melodramatic breakup, with guesses that something ugly must have happened behind the scenes. Kath, ever the culinary enthusiast, not only served up her delicious pasta but also dished out the latest celebrity gossip, each tidbit as spicy as her sauce.
The next day, during a late breakfast at the same kitchen island—our unwitting oracle—we were hit by a triple whammy of reality checks. The news of my favorite player's retirement broke, echoing my gloomy predictions from the night before. Jaz chimed in with an update that our friend had uncovered a cheating scandal worthy of its own reality TV special. And Kath, never one to be left out of the drama: her favorite celebrity was now the star of a scandal.
By the third morning, as we sipped our coffee, the newspaper slapped me with another bizarre twist. I was going through the devastating economics and politics sections, then I saw the sports section——featured an irate coach, hell-bent on convincing my favorite player to dismiss retirement plans and keep his jersey on a little longer. Meanwhile, Jaz had good news for a change: it turned out our friend's love story might have a second act after all, as misunderstandings were being cleared up. Amidst these revelations, Kath, who had been grumbling about the nearby supermarket’s inability to stock anything remotely gourmet, and hadn’t had a taste of her favorite Blue Mountain coffee since the beginning of that year, triumphantly found a can of Blue Mountain coffee, and it was on sale and therefore affordable—proof that miracles happen, and sometimes they even go on discount.
As I sat there, absorbing the serendipity of our discussions manifesting into real-world events, I couldn't help but marvel at the mysterious knack of our kitchen island. Was it merely a coincidence, or had this stylish piece of decor become the unlikely conductor of our lives symphony? One thing was certain: life in apartment 606 was never dull, and our kitchen island seemed to be more than just a place to eat—it was a place where, apparently, you could stir the pot of fate.
I decided to conduct a whimsical experiment with our now seemingly magical kitchen island. Clearing my throat theatrically, I declared, "I should be interviewed for a director position." To my sheer astonishment, the next day a headhunter rang me up, claiming I was the ideal candidate for a directorial role at a prestigious corporation in my field. Despite the other candidates possessing decades more experience which defeated me with no effort, and my own lingering self-doubt from months of unemployment, I sailed to the final interview round with the company's executives.
Upon returning to our apartment, I found Kath flaunting a chic dress from a designer brand brand she’d snagged on clearance—a little luxury courtesy of our wish-granting island. Inspired, I approached the island and cheekily requested, "Get us jobs. Something fun." Lo and behold, the following day was spent lounging and binge-watching Netflix, only to be interrupted by a call from a former bigwig at my old job. He was venturing into a more illustrious company and wanted me onboard. The informal chat that followed was a breeze, and just like that, I was back in the game with a fancier title and a fatter paycheck.
The subsequent week was a flurry of celebrations. Jaz secured a senior-level position, and Kath landed her dream job at an influencer management agency. Feeling triumphant, we decided to indulge in a night of fine dining—our first in months. That Friday evening when I went from office to restaurant, on a whim, stopped at a convenience store to grab snacks and cigarettes for our post-dinner revelry. Outside, I encountered a homeless person. After offering him a sandwich (which he traded for a cigarette instead), he took a drag, peered into my eyes, and ominously muttered, “Look, young lady, this isn’t my business, but be wary of what you wish for; everything comes with a price. Good luck and god bless you.”
His words barely registered until later that evening when a mishap occurred that seemed to underline his warning. As we enjoyed syphon coffee post-dinner, a barista accidentally tripped over Kath’s flowing dress. The resulting spill left her with first-degree burns, abruptly ending our night as we rushed to the emergency room. Though it was "just" a first-degree burn, the pain was significant enough to require several days off for Kath’s recovery. Amid the drama, I couldn't help but wonder about the cryptic caution from the man outside the store—had our fortunate streak come with a hidden cost?
We chalked up the coffee calamity to bad luck. The next month flowed smoothly: Kath's fingers healed, she returned to work, and I quickly found my groove at the new job. With all of us gainfully employed, our communal meals at the kitchen island became rare. My mornings were a whirlwind of grabbing breakfast and coffee on the go, followed by an hour's commute to a job that had me scarfing down instant noodles by nightfall, just in time for a quick shower.
As the busy season kicked in, my workload ballooned—not just from the seasonal uptick, but because I was hell-bent on proving my mettle. I quickly outshone most of my peers, and my employer, recognizing a budding overachiever, piled on major tasks, which I eagerly accepted. What started as the occasional hour of overtime soon devoured my weekends. Unpaid overtime, as the fine print in my contract gleefully noted, became my new norm. Driven by a mix of ambition and expectation, I had become the go-to young hotshot, the erstwhile record-breaker now expected to continually outdo myself.
Mentally, I was too swamped to entertain thoughts of anything beyond work, which, in a twisted way, felt like a break. Physically, however, the strain began to show. A bout of flu caught on a business trip escalated into a fever. Sick as I was, deadlines waited for no one, and I soldiered on medicated and miserable. By the time I made it home, my voice had abandoned me. Unable to utter a word the next morning, I resorted to emailing my manager about my sorry state.
That week, robbed of my voice, I mused that it was perhaps a well-deserved hiatus for my overworked vocal cords—a silent retreat if you will. But when my voice did return, it was as a raspy whisper, a shadow of its former crisp and melodious timbre. My doctor offered a grim prognosis: slight improvement might come, but the golden tones were gone for good—scarred by the relentless grind. Ah, the price of ambition—a scratchy throat as a permanent reminder of my corporate conquests.
It seemed I had unwittingly exchanged the clarity of my voice for the tumult of career success. In the midst of our domestic enchantment with the possibly mystical kitchen island, Kath unearthed the contact of a reputed psychic, hailed as the finest in the land. However, the consultation fee was nothing short of princely, and with Jaz vehemently dismissing anything that couldn't be explained by cold, hard science, she promptly opted out of splitting the bill. Kath and I, unwilling to drain our wallets on what could be mere phantasmagoria, reluctantly let the opportunity pass.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice a curious change in Jaz’s routine. She had ceased dining at the kitchen island, avoiding it as if it were cursed—or perhaps, in her view, simply out of style. The Saturday morning brought a particularly harsh twist: a murder of crows took to spiralling above our balcony, their cries as sharp as the plot of a Poe novel. We found ourselves drawn to the infamous kitchen island, lined up like the cast of a macabre play, silently praying for the birds to disperse. Kath, ever trying to restore some semblance of normalcy, offered up cups of Blue Mountain coffee. She absentmindedly inquired if I wanted cream or sugar in mine—a blunder that made me realize just how long it had been since our last coffee klatch at this very spot. My inner monologue couldn't resist a dark wish for the crows to scatter, perhaps too dark, for they began to dive bomb our balcony in a feathery kamikaze. The spectacle was enough to knock Jaz off her feet—literally—as her mug met its end on the floor. Kath, meanwhile, made a hasty retreat to worship the porcelain god, and I sat frozen, my brain offline, pondering the twisted power of our kitchen island's apparent wish-granting.
After the unnerving spectacle of crows turning our balcony into a scene straight out of a Hitchcock film, our first rational step—post-collective fainting, of course—was to summon cleaners to manage the feathery carnage. Then, still rattled but increasingly curious, we visited a psychic, who, contrary to the crystal-ball-gazer image, operated out of a posh boutique in a high-end mall and dressed more like she was headed to a fashion show than a séance. We laid bare our saga of the seemingly cursed kitchen island, complete with photographic evidence of where domestic bliss meets eerie phenomena.
The psychic introduced a term that chilled the air around us: “limbo,” the threshold between our world and the otherworldly, and she dubbed our kitchen island the "Devil’s Bargain Counter." According to her, our wishes came with a heavy and unpredictable price, because we have accidentally started trades with beings from the netherworld. Her advice was disarmingly simple: cease all trades on the island. To address the repercussions of past wishes, she advised us the first line of defence, which was an eclectic mix of offerings laid out on our cursed countertop: raw meat(rooster works the best), a cocktail of spices(coca and cinnamon preferably), liberal splashes of spirits(whiskey and rum ideally), and an eerie bouquet of black flowers(luckily I found some black roses at a flower shop of the mall). In a grander gesture of appeasement, Kath relinquished her shiny new diamond bracelet, Jaz her absurdly expensive headphones, and I parted with cash—— a hefty slice of my bonus in hopes of placating whatever capricious spirits we'd angered.
Our return to normalcy was brief but sweet, prompting us to plan a getaway, eager to forget about our nefarious kitchen island. Yet, the respite was merely a tease. Jaz, in a stroke of spectacular misfortune, narrowly dodged disaster twice in one day—first nearly becoming subway track fodder on her way back after work, and then almost getting knocked out by a rogue plant at our apartment building’s doorstep. Clearly, our previous offerings were mere appetizers to whatever forces we'd stirred. The psychic, summoned once again to our now-dubious sanctuary, decreed that the spirits had developed rather expensive tastes, unsatisfied by our initial gestures.
In a desperate bid for closure, we had the psychic over for a nighttime ritual, timed perfectly with Earth's closest approach to the netherworld, according to her. Our living room turned into a ritual chamber, with windows blacked out for days, to keep the otherworldly dealings strictly nocturnal. That night, we arranged ourselves around the island, now less a kitchen fixture and more an altar of last resort.
The psychic, amidst a chorus of Latin incantations, directed us through a chilling séance that included a mirror that reflected nothing but darkness and a burning black candle, the three of us sat in a row, joined hands, eyes closed. When the black candle was flickering at its last, the first eerie scratches heard prompted our eyes to open prematurely, we saw a command appear on the island, written by invisible hand and pen, in blood-red script, urging us to find the next "succeeder" before our lease on otherworldly disturbances could be terminated.
With bated breath, we agreed, and as if by magic, our signatures materialized on the countertop, then faded as the candle sputtered out. We tore off the black cardboard taped on the windows at dawn, the sunrise revealed a final message etched into the surface: "Debt cleared." As the daylight grew, the ominous inscription dissolved into nothingness, signalling the end of our spectral saga.
The ordeal, now officially behind us, left us enjoying a semblance of normalcy: life in 606 returned to its mundane rhythm, with dinners and movie nights back on our social calendar. Though not without its scars—literal and figurative.
It’s been two years since then, Jaz, in the throes of romantic bliss, is now gearing up for a new chapter waiting to be written alongside her soon-to-be spouse; Kath, her career finally taking a lucrative turn, was poised to upgrade her living situation, she secured a lease on a lavish serviced apartment in the city center—a place that matched her newfound financial swagger.
I’m not without my own leaps forward. With a modest boost from my parents, I took the plunge into homeownership, snagging a property within the city’s vibrant confines. The process was a whirlwind of paperwork and decorating decisions, culminating in a space I could truly call my own.
As we are packing up now, my last act is to type out our story, at the infamous island, and of course, I left a note in the fridge for the next tenants:
"Welcome to 606. We had a wonderful time here, especially at the kitchen island, filled with joy and unforgettable moments. We hope you find as much happiness as we did. Use the isle well. Warm wishes, the previous tenants."

I had my first post op appt today and my surgeon was thrilled with my results. Everything looks good and he gave me a rough time line of when I can get my drains out and out of the binder and into some spanx. He said my BA looks perfect and I just have to wear the bra he gave me 24/7. Won’t be an issue cause I hate going bra free lol.
I am curious though why he’s recommending (imo) pretty mild compression going forward? The binder I’m in now is tight but not crazy. Then usually around 2 weeks is when I’ll stop using the binder and start using spanx (ideally small or XS). Obviously spanx do have some stronger compression but I kind of expected a faja for the lipo and tummy tuck. What have your surgeons recommended for post op recovery? I haven’t taken too many pictures cause I’m still hunched over and can’t seem to get a good angle. But everyone has told me (at the office and my husband lol) that it looks great. PS went as far to brag while he was examining me to the nurse lol.
Also I feel so much better than I did those first 48 hours. Like my goodness I was definitely going through it then but by yesterday my mood and appetite picked up. As well as I’ve been using less pain meds. Such a relief to starting feeling normal again.