"Cher" asks me what I want done and I tell her I'd like to have thinner thighs. I'm sad to find out I can get the injections only in the inner and outer sides of my thighs, not in the back (where I think they really need it) because there's a risk they'd inject muscle and not fat.
For a second, I'm a little disappointed until I remember I'm not actually going through with the procedure.
Landon Armstrong
Landon Armstrong
Related Content
More About
She gives me the rundown about how it works and what I can realistically expect. She explains that there are side effects. Mostly, there's a lot of swelling for "three to four days" following the injections.
One surgeon I spoke to, who doesn't perform Lipodissolve, says the swelling lasts much longer than that.
After we run through the side effects, "Cher" drops a bombshell on me: The procedure usually takes about nine treatments to see results. Each treatment consists of 14 "micro-shots" into the area. That's 126 injections. And about 18 weeks of pain (the shots are administered every two weeks).
I learn something else unsettling. The doctor listed on the Web site as the person in charge isn't the one who actually does the injections. He's simply the medical director who stops by a few times a week; nurses and physician's assistants administer the shots.
I guess this doesn't bother many people because the center treats about 100 to 125 people per day.
She informs me that the procedure works so well because we have only a certain number of fat cells in our bodies. The number never increases. She goes on to talk about something else, but I miss it. I'm way too excited at the thought of not being able to produce new fat cells. I think "Cher" can tell I'm not listening anymore. She finishes her sales pitch and shakes my hand.
"It should be a very good result," she tells me. "You have tons of collagen and you're not above your ideal weight."
I like how she keeps reassuring me I'm not fat.
She leaves the room and sends someone in to talk finances. Before I find out how much it's going to cost, I'm actually considering the procedure. Never mind the fact that I could achieve the same results at the gym, or the fact that I'm already in debt and can't afford to pay someone to dissolve my fat for me. I want this! I need this!
Then I hear the price. The center is running a "sale" for the month of August, so I can get it done for around $3,500 for both thighs. Or $317.54 per month. Thighs are usually $2,200 each.
I pretend that this price tag doesn't faze me. But inside all I can think is, "$317.54? That's the same as two car payments." And then, "How am I going to get out of this?" Clearly, I cannot fake the rich-girl mentality. I mumble a really lame sounding excuse about having to talk the price over with my dad (rich kids get everything from Dad, right?) and say that I will call them back in a few days and hustle out to the parking lot, and my dust-covered Civic.
As I prepare to battle rush-hour traffic back to my central Phoenix apartment, I call a friend of mine in Tucson. She is just as excited at the news about our limited number of fat cells. Before I started this story, she and I shared the same biases about plastic surgery (meaning, we both thought it was a waste of money) but she agrees with me that Lipodissolve sounds tempting. Until I mention the price and the 14 shots.
Her response to the thought of 126 injections was something along the lines of, "Girl, are you crazy?"
She has a point. Plus, armed with my new knowledge about the function and structure of fat cells, I feel more confident I can shrink them with exercise. As long as I know they aren't conspiring to multiply, I can defeat them.
It's a good thing I'm feeling so exercise-oriented. I have a meeting with a personal trainer a few days later.
I made the appointment because it seems to me someone my age should be able to get in amazing shape without surgery or excessive expense. Plus, to be honest, I wanted to pick up some info I could take and apply to my normal workouts.
Here's the thing about exercise. I have a gym membership and I do use it. I like feeling healthy, and I smoke a lot, so I figure I owe my body. It's a trade-off. But my workouts are pretty standard: an hour of some kind of cardio and then whatever I feel like doing on the weights (which usually isn't that much).
As I drive to my appointment in north Scottsdale (where else?), I try to picture what my trainer will look like. Based on the way he sounded on the phone, I'm picturing an enormous man who could double as a bodyguard for Tony Soprano. I'm a little scared. Is he going to laugh at my skinny arms and make me do pushups? Is he going to spout awful clichés about pumping me up? When I get to the gym, there are plenty of men there who fit that description. (I'm almost surprised none of them is wearing a gold chain while working out.) But my trainer isn't one of them. He's about my age and isn't as intimidating as I thought he would be.
