Official Book Club Selection Part 10

Do I look thinner?

Trust me, if you're watching TV or a movie and you see a pretty lady over the age of seventeen, she's had some s.h.i.+t done. (Not you, Miley.

You've got at least six months before Daddy signs you up.) I would estimate that a lot more women and men in show business have had plastic surgery than not.

But this is my my chapter about plastic surgery, so I'm not implying in any way that these experiences reflect any of the plastic surgery that, oh gosh, chapter about plastic surgery, so I'm not implying in any way that these experiences reflect any of the plastic surgery that, oh gosh, may may have played a part in the lives of, say, if I were to pul names out of thin air, Mickey Rourke, the cast of have played a part in the lives of, say, if I were to pul names out of thin air, Mickey Rourke, the cast of Desperate Housewives Desperate Housewives, Al Pacino, Nicole Kidman, and the Octomom.

It's stil a taboo topic to talk about and admit to, so let's get to it, shal we?

I got my first nose job when I was twenty-six. This was in the '80s, when face-lifts and b.o.o.b jobs weren't as common, but nose jobs were everywhere, and altering my nose-one of my more Griffinesque features if you look at the rest of my family-was a no-brainer, especial y after I'd meet with prospective agents, who would just be brutal about this kind of stuff. I'l never forget one agent who said to me, "You could be pretty if it weren't for that awful nose." But he said it as casual y as if he'd said, "Would you like some water?"

These are my nose job "before" pictures. I had a deviated septum.

Real y.

When you're an actress, you're expected not to react to something like that. These people are supposedly trying to help you, albeit without any tact or compa.s.sion. You can't get indignant-"Who the f.u.c.k do you think you are?"-and you can't cry (because then in my case my freakishly deformed, gigantic nose would run), and you can't argue with them: "Wel , I'm beautiful!" They're just going to say, "Real y? Have you seen JAMI GERTZ?" If I may pul out of my memory an '80s paragon of beauty for you.

I constantly heard from agents and casting directors that my nose was keeping me from being successful as an actress. And if you look at the lovely pictures I've provided, you can see that it's not like I had a big b.u.mp or that it was crooked. It was just bigger. A little bigger. Not even a lot bigger. I wasn't Streisand, where my nose was my most prominent feature and what everyone was talking about. It just ... had a little character to it. And yet, this was what I needed, supposedly, so I arranged to get a nose job. I didn't even think of it as surgery. If my philosophy was to do whatever it took to be on television, it seemed like a smal price to pay.

It wasn't a smal price to pay for my parents, because they actual y paid for it. Their att.i.tude was matter-of-fact, too. If this is what show business requires, this is what you wil do, they said. n.o.body in my life for one second countered with, "Be who you are! Don't let them get you down!" It was, "Start saving money because insurance doesn't cover it."

As for the surgery itself, it was insanely painful. I hate when people say, "Oh, it wasn't that bad." Let me tel you, it f.u.c.king hurts. First off, they break your nose when you're under. I woke up during that part, by the way, because while they always have to be careful not to over-anesthetize you-it's routinely considered the most dangerous thing about surgery, making sure you're completely under but never so so under that you stop breathing or anything-they sometimes can't prevent you from opening your eyes for the "ick" moments. There I was, emerging from being knocked out, and seeing a little hammer and chisel as they broke my nose with an excruciatingly audible under that you stop breathing or anything-they sometimes can't prevent you from opening your eyes for the "ick" moments. There I was, emerging from being knocked out, and seeing a little hammer and chisel as they broke my nose with an excruciatingly audible CLINK CLINK. They'd said to me earlier, "Squeeze the hand of the anesthesiologist when you are awake."

So I woke up, CLINK CLINK, and then crushed that person's fingers as hard as I could.

That's al I remember. When the whole thing was over, my face was completely swol en with two s.h.i.+ners. This was fol owed by a setting period, when they pack your nose with gauze, and because it's broken they put a cast on it. Like it's a fractured arm. And don't think you can get any sleep with something like that on, either. This is al fol owed by the real express train to agony, when they have to pul the gauze out of both your nasal pa.s.sages a few days later. "Okay, get ready, this won't take long!" they said, and oh f.u.c.kChristholys.h.i.+t oh f.u.c.kChristholys.h.i.+t did that hurt. To this day, it was the most intense physical pain I've ever experienced. I remember tears just springing from my eyes, like they were sprinklers. did that hurt. To this day, it was the most intense physical pain I've ever experienced. I remember tears just springing from my eyes, like they were sprinklers. Why Why couldn't they just novocaine my entire f.u.c.king head? couldn't they just novocaine my entire f.u.c.king head? I thought. I thought.

The nose job was a b.i.t.c.h, but I was pretty much ful y recovered after a few weeks. Once the swel ing and bruising had gone down, I looked at myself and felt a little bit better. This was what I had to do, after al . I had no regrets. Now it was back to auditioning, where the parts would be mine for the taking!

And that's the story of the nose job that didn't improve my life or career. At al .

I wish I could say I went on to become a very prominent nose model, but the phone didn't ring. The offers weren't coming in, or maybe I just couldn't smel them, because of my puny nasal pa.s.sages.

The irony is that, as you get older, your nose and your ears grow. My nose had changed form again, so in 2002-wait for it-I got another another nose job. My problem with the second nose job was this: I stil don't think enough got sliced away. Yeah, that's right. He was way too subtle. f.u.c.k that. I wanted the ful Naomi Judd. I say that because I worked with her one time, and I stared at her tiny nose and thought, nose job. My problem with the second nose job was this: I stil don't think enough got sliced away. Yeah, that's right. He was way too subtle. f.u.c.k that. I wanted the ful Naomi Judd. I say that because I worked with her one time, and I stared at her tiny nose and thought, Holy s.h.i.+t, it looks Holy s.h.i.+t, it looks like somebody hacked the s.h.i.+t out of that thing. She'll never have to like somebody hacked the s.h.i.+t out of that thing. She'll never have to get a second one like I did. I love it! get a second one like I did. I love it!

So after al that, I actual y believe that my current nose is my original nose. I've just grown it back.

We'l now move on to other battleground areas of my body, namely a war I almost lost-literal y, as in nearly dying-to liposuction.

First, though, a quick update on my weight battles. A few years of off-and-on Overeaters Anonymous meetings in my twenties-introduced to me by the ever-supportive Judy Tol -helped me come to grips with the fact that other people had experiences similar to mine. For somebody who believed she looked like Meat Loaf-the old Meat Loaf-coming to a safe gathering place and seeing everybody from anorexics who were truly at death's door to people who looked like me-in other words, not real y overweight, but obsessed with the notion that we were-was a helpful breakthrough. After years of looking for what I thought was the

Big Solution, the thing that was going to make me never want cake again, it helped me realize that there was no magic pil , just hard work and awareness.

Therapy helped, too. One time after a bad binge-stomach distended, hating myself, the whole nine yards-I went to a session with a therapist and she said this great thing that real y stuck with me. I was talking about some audition coming up, and I kept saying, "I have to get down to one hundred ten! I have to get down to one hundred ten!" In other words, my weight when I was a freshman at Oak Park High.

Joyce looks like that because she's p.i.s.sed I won't share the cake with her.

She just said, "Wel , what if your goal weight was one hundred twenty-five?" As in, get rid of this stupid, unrealistic number in your head, and subst.i.tute another number. Suddenly, being 135 didn't seem so bad, or so far away from a reasonable goal.

so far away from a reasonable goal.

When you're in this image-conscious business, though, the chal enges to your perceptions come fast and furious. When I was on Suddenly Susan Suddenly Susan, I'd have to go in for fittings with the wardrobe people twice a week, and I have to say, those sessions were just awful. Here I was, a supposedly integral part of a big network comedy-there to make people laugh, not turn heads with my figure-and yet two times a week I'd be made to feel as if I was an anatomical freak. Real y, the wardrobe people would just act as if the size 6 didn't exist, or refer to it like old Jewish women whispering about someone's cancer. And forget about it if you're an 8. Then you're twice the size of Style Network's reality star Ruby. You know, before she lost the weight.

Wel , I'd been hearing about this magical process cal ed liposuction. It apparently wasn't just about sucking the fat out. The word was they could sculpt your body at the same time. Actresses everywhere were doing it and saying it changed their life. "I went down two pant sizes!"

you'd hear. So in between seasons of Suddenly Susan Suddenly Susan I had a meeting with a big-time celebrity plastic surgeon. I had heard hush-hush rumors that he had done Michel e Pfeiffer's eyes, and whether that was true or not, who doesn't want to look like Michel e Pfeiffer? I'm tel ing you-like talking about your body with an agent-those sessions with plastic surgeons are f.u.c.king brutal. It's very much like the way you see it on I had a meeting with a big-time celebrity plastic surgeon. I had heard hush-hush rumors that he had done Michel e Pfeiffer's eyes, and whether that was true or not, who doesn't want to look like Michel e Pfeiffer? I'm tel ing you-like talking about your body with an agent-those sessions with plastic surgeons are f.u.c.king brutal. It's very much like the way you see it on Nip/Tuck: Nip/Tuck: "Tel me what you don't like about yourself." Suddenly you're discussing your "problem areas," and then they take a Sharpie and write al over your body in the most humiliating fas.h.i.+on, reminiscent of the iconic scene in "Tel me what you don't like about yourself." Suddenly you're discussing your "problem areas," and then they take a Sharpie and write al over your body in the most humiliating fas.h.i.+on, reminiscent of the iconic scene in Billy Jack Billy Jack where the townies throw powder in the face of the "injuns." where the townies throw powder in the face of the "injuns."

What happens is these plastic surgeons start laying on other s.h.i.+t you'd never even considered. My "problem areas," you wonder? The biggest one was my brain. Get a load of the crazy s.h.i.+t I wanted to do to my body. As soon as I mentioned that I wanted to be able to stand so that when I touched my ankles together there'd be s.p.a.ce between my knees, like you see on models in swimsuits, this guy said, "Oh, we could do that."

"Real y?" I said. "You can change the shape of my knees change the shape of my knees ?" ?"

"Yes, we can!" he said. Way before Obama.

I showed him a picture of Jennifer Aniston. "I can have Aniston's lower body?"

"Yes!"

So the next thing I know, we're scheduled to do my stomach, my inner thighs, my outer thighs, and my f.u.c.king knees knees, al in one long surgery that went on for wel over four hours.

I didn't real y know what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd just go to sleep and wake up skinny. I knew it was some sort of vacuuming situation, but what real y happens is first they take a hol ow knitting needle vacuum-it real y does look like a mini-Hoover-and stab a bunch of holes in you. I real y question whether or not these doctors just hated their mothers and felt like taking it out on me. Then they remove the fat cel s, and also a lot of your bodily fluids as wel . The next part -the juiciest, real y-is that for a long time afterward you have to wear a medieval girdle, night and day, except when you're showering. And there's a hole in it to pee through. This is because they actual y think that after they've abused your body, as long as you wear this elasticized gauze twenty-four hours a day, it wil mold your body into shape. I'm pretty sure people don't get six-pack abs from wrapping their bel ies for a month. It's crazy logic. It would be like taking a stacked woman, wrapping her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then tel ing her, "In a month, you'l be flat-chested!"

It makes no sense. Wait a minute, it would be like someone's Irish- Catholic box-of-wine-drinking mother tel ing their frizzy-haired daughter that if they blew dry their hair enough, it could be "trained" to be straight.

Oh c.r.a.p, I'm repeating myself.

Another ridiculous thing they said was, "Now, once we suck out the fat in these areas, if you're not careful with diet and exercise, you'l gain it back in other areas of your body." This should have been the tip-off that diet and exercise were what I should have been doing al along to lose weight-that the whole operation was a scam. So according to the doctors, the fat stays out of my bel y, but eat too much and it'l go to my arms? That made no sense, either. But when you're in that office, you want to believe. I was an idiot.

Something else I didn't know at the time was that a plastic surgeon isn't necessarily someone who's trained for years and years. It might be an EMT who went on a weekend retreat and then opened up shop as a way to double-dip. You might be having this very serious, potential y dangerous surgery done in a place that looks like it's in a hospital -cause it has the gurney, the equipment, the lights-but it's just a broom closet some doctor has converted next to the room they do checkups in.

In any case, I was sold on surgical y slimming myself down, so I went through with this painful liposuction surgery. The first indication that something was wrong-with their protocol and my recovery-was that I wasn't peeing. n.o.body told me that I shouldn't go home from the procedure until I'd peed, or voided, as they say in doctor lingo. I didn't know it was a big deal if you didn't pee. So they sent me home, I went to bed, and I was bleeding from the incisions. Bleeding al over the bed.

The pain was unbearable. Final y I got the surgeon on the phone late that night and he said, "Have you voided?" I said, "No, I can't seem to pee." It felt like I had to pee, but I couldn't, and now I could barely move or walk.

My post-op lipo photos? Or first date with Chris Brown?

He said, "I'm sending a nurse over to your house, and she's going to put a catheter in you." Great. A plastic tube stuck up my v.a.g.i.n.a. I was so distracted by the pain that I just said, "Okay."

The nurse came over, and said, "Wel , I'm glad I had my beeper with me when the doctor cal ed, because I was at dinner having a gla.s.s of wine."

With Maggie Griffin, perhaps? What an odd thing to admit. I'm pretty sure this is probably considered to be a highly inappropriate thing to say if you're in the medical profession. Did she real y have a gla.s.s of wine and some crystal meth, but decide the crystal meth part was inappropriate to tel me? They didn't have anybody who wasn't drunk that they could send? Oh wel , it was late and I was in hel ish pain.

As I'm sure you can imagine-even those of you without v.a.g.i.n.as (that's you, gays)-that catheter in my poor little peesh hurt like hel , especial y the trial and error it took to find where it went. But I have to say, once it was in place, I did feel relief. The doctor had said whatever was causing my lack of peeing would be gone by tomorrow, so after the nurse cathed and then uncathed me-ouch-she took the bag of pee and left.

Next day comes and I stil can't pee.

I cal the doctor again. "What should I do?"

"Wel , come into my office. We're going to cath you again."

Get ready: I went to his office for five straight f.u.c.king days for five straight f.u.c.king days to get cathed. to get cathed.

Each day it was, "Wel , this time we'l cath you and you'l be fine tomorrow."

By the fifth day, I wasn't going through the lobby anymore. They had me entering through the side door. Gee, I wonder why. Bad for business to see a lipo patient returning over and over again in excruciating agony?

On that fifth day I walked into the office, doubled over in pain. I'm barfing and sweating. I actual y think I had dementia. I truly wasn't thinking straight. Suddenly, this guy on a gurney nearby, who must have been there to get a facial done because he had the shower cap on and looked like he had been freshly lasered, looked at me and said, "Oh my G.o.d, what happened to you?"

"I got liposuction and I can't pee."

Then, like a scene out of some movie, he bolted up, tore his shower cap off, and started yel ing for a doctor. He said to me with no smal amount of urgency, "You have to go to a hospital right now!" right now!"

"What?" I said.

When my doctor showed up, this guy started screaming at him: "You'd better take her personal y to the ER right now! I'm cal ing the hospital.

What the f.u.c.k did you do to this girl? What did you do to this girl?" What did you do to this girl?"

Get this: My hero was a physician who indeed was there to get a facial. One look at the color of my skin, and he knew it was bad. So the lipo doctor took me in his car to Cedars Sinai Hospital, where they rushed me into the ER, and what they discovered was that because my urine wasn't exiting my body, it was going through my organs and up into my back. My kidneys were close to being permanently damaged. The ER doctors were seriously freaked out, and so was my lipo doctor, who I'm sure cared only about the fact that I was surely going to sue him.

What I remember the most from this whole episode is that they had to cath me again again. I was crying at this point, murmuring, "Anything, anything but the catheter." The difference this time, though, was that they were going to put it in and leave it in. And wouldn't you know it, I was never so happy to have the catheter, because what always hurt was the in and out. I had that catheter in for three days, but it was three days of gloriously being able to urinate. I grew so emboldened, I even went to the mal to see a movie, thinking, This is great! This is great! And then I was in the food court, and I thought to myself, And then I was in the food court, and I thought to myself, What am I doing? I What am I doing? I have to get the f.u.c.k home have to get the f.u.c.k home.

Good luck suing a doctor, by the way. When I wanted to sue, I quickly realized in the end, I would simply be outspent. So I wrote an article for Glamour Glamour magazine instead, cal ed "Lipo Sucks." But not only could I not name the doctor, I couldn't even say in what town it happened. The magazine was too worried. You don't see his name here, either, you'l notice. To this day, it feels like a conspiracy among doctors. But I'm here to tel you, I and many of the doctors I spoke to about it after this experience think this procedure is dangerous, and that lipo is the worst thing to happen to medicine in decades. I try to talk everyone I know out of doing it. I'd like to think I scared enough people about it in my act for months afterward when I'd tel the story of what happened and then pul my pants down onstage to show the black-and-blue marks from my stomach al the way down to my ankles. magazine instead, cal ed "Lipo Sucks." But not only could I not name the doctor, I couldn't even say in what town it happened. The magazine was too worried. You don't see his name here, either, you'l notice. To this day, it feels like a conspiracy among doctors. But I'm here to tel you, I and many of the doctors I spoke to about it after this experience think this procedure is dangerous, and that lipo is the worst thing to happen to medicine in decades. I try to talk everyone I know out of doing it. I'd like to think I scared enough people about it in my act for months afterward when I'd tel the story of what happened and then pul my pants down onstage to show the black-and-blue marks from my stomach al the way down to my ankles.

The irony is that my figure didn't even noticeably change from the surgery. In fact, not one person-from friends to s...o...b..z col eagues -told me I had the lower body of Jennifer Aniston or any of the Friends Friends, Matt LeBlanc included. Six months later I looked the same, and it wasn't until I started running regularly that I discovered how to get weight off and keep it off. But nevertheless, ever since then, people wil occasional y say to me, "Wel , I had lipo and I loved it."

To which I say, "Good for you. It almost f.u.c.king kil ed me."

It was a while before I had the nerve to try plastic surgery again, but in 2003 I approached a doctor who'd been recommended to me with one of my genius publicity trade-offs. Yet again, painful vanity won out over common sense. I said if I could get Entertainment Tonight Entertainment Tonight and and People People magazine to cover my plastic surgery, would he do it for free? This guy said, "Not only wil I do it for free, I'l add on a bunch of stuff." magazine to cover my plastic surgery, would he do it for free? This guy said, "Not only wil I do it for free, I'l add on a bunch of stuff."

I took ful advantage of his offer and got an upper eye job (slicing your eyelid and taking the fat away, yum!), a lower face lift (half the work, half the pain, only pul ing up the bottom part of your head), a neck pul (incision, incision, yank yank, then feel for a month like someone's always tugging on your neck), lipo on my arms (I know, I know, but it was part of the package and didn't require knocking me out, which was where the problems began the first time), veneers on my teeth, Botox, and ... who remembers what the f.u.c.k I had done, real y.

The thing is, I look back now and have a major regret that I came clean with this whole thing. It's just been an annoyance. Definitely a publicity gambit that backfired. Every interview I've done from then on trying to promote whatever I had coming up on TV ended up being a detailed and embarra.s.sing rehas.h.i.+ng of my plastic surgery. If I could redo anything in my career, I would not have gone public with that round of plastic surgery. I should have just paid for it and kept quiet. One time a woman came up to me at an airport and started touching my face, saying, "You don't look that bad." I should have just become one of those dames who absolutely swear they've never had any work done. I'm looking at you, Hatcher. Instead it felt like my first reality show, in a way.

It's become something I've been asked about-and wil continue to be asked about-for the rest of my life. Of al the things I thought I'd get out of that experience, getting asked repeatedly about my stand on plastic surgery, or how I felt moral y about it, was not one of them.

My decision to have more surgery was about as deep as, "Maybe I'l look younger and be in a magazine!"

And then the big irony: After years of trying to get on Oprah Oprah, this was my ticket in. By the way, Oprah, is this the first thing you're reading in my book, you little scoundrel? I can't believe you! You just looked in the index, saw your name, and flipped to this page, didn't you? Gayle, do something! Oh wel .

Anyway, here I was with my moratorium on doing interviews about my plastic surgery, and then my publicist cal s and says: "Oprah wants you for a show about plastic surgery."

"Can't I just go on and be a regular interview?"

"You're not big enough."

"What if I real y opened up about my personal life?"

"No."

"My show business trials and tribulations?"

"It's a pa.s.s. It's plastic surgery or nothing."

"What time does my plane leave?"

When Oprah cal s, you eat s.h.i.+t and you do it. That's a lesson, people.

Am I right, O?

You can skip ahead now, Oprah. Nothing else to see here. I'l probably move on to writing about Barbara Walters and that black guy she slept with. Gotcha!

Is she gone? Okay, get this: Do you want to know why Oprah has al that money? She's super cheap. This was the big time, I thought, but al they gave me was one coach ticket, they refused to spring for my hair and makeup person, and they wanted to put me in a low-end motel. I thought, You're kidding! Isn't this a big-budget show where they roll out the red You're kidding! Isn't this a big-budget show where they roll out the red carpet? Isn't this the woman who lives for lighting and hair and carpet? Isn't this the woman who lives for lighting and hair and makeup? makeup?

Their warm-up person for the audience? It was the segment producer who did my preinterview. I was perplexed. I said, "Are you a comedian?"

She said, "No, I'm just trying this out!" I asked to get a picture with Ms.

Winfrey before the show, and they said "No." I said, "Okay, but I need a picture. I need proof for my gays!" They said, "Wel , we'l take the picture, and then we'l give it to you." They took it. They own it. They could probably ask for it back at any time. (It's why you're not seeing it in the book. Can't p.i.s.s off the big O.) In any case, I wanted to look good for my big moment, so I got myself a real y expensive black suit. The idea was to keep it simple and look like a mil ion bucks, but not be super-fas.h.i.+ony. When it came time to tape the show, it was ridiculously exciting to hear Oprah introduce me-"COME ON O-O-O-O-O-OUT!"-and then I was on for my little interview. I tried to make her laugh, but she was very dominant and condescending, somewhat friendly. It took her a few minutes to get who I was, and even though we were there to talk about plastic surgery, I got her to chuckle a little. But she's very alpha dog. You go out there and she lets you know in two seconds, "This is my turf." I think she peed on me a little. And she got one of her cla.s.sic nurturing digs in when I mentioned getting liposuction twice, even though the first time had complications.

Like the wise scold she is, she asked me if I was ever going to learn. I wasn't offended, though. It's Oprah, so it was funny. It's what we want from her, right?

The best moment for me came during the commercial break. Our show was taping not long after they'd aired Oprah's insane interview with Barbra Streisand, where the two of them had appeared to go at it like they were in a Mexican c.o.c.kfight. So during the break I thought, I I have three minutes with Oprah, I'm going to take my shot and ask have three minutes with Oprah, I'm going to take my shot and ask about it about it. But Oprah, being a very smart woman, took questions from the audience between segments. It's obviously her way of denying every guest who wants their private time with her.

I wasn't having it, though. She took a question and then I just blurted out, "By the way, that Streisand interview you did was off the hook."

And instantaneously, I was rewarded. Sa.s.sy ghetto Oprah materialized as she turned to me with WTF eyes and said, "You know, she painted my mic white?" white?"

It seems Streisand had wanted her outfit to match her microphone, so she apparently had one of her minions take one of Oprah's mikes and spray-paint it white. And it had been eating at Oprah for weeks weeks. Yes!

That was my Oprah moment.

Do you think Oprah is bragging about her Kathy Griffin moment? Me, too.

When I perform I solemnly swear to swear, so f.u.c.king help me G.o.d.