The Full Monty

It’s a good thing I’m an actor. One thing I’ve learned over my years in the theatre is the art of being unclothed in front of other people without embarrassment. It’s almost a job requirement - like exterminators should be able to see a bumblebee without screaming and running around hysterically. When I was younger, I used to be embarrassed, or even feel bad about my lack of ‘proper’ modesty, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to adjust. I remember being 7 years-old, and getting ready for my first (and only) dance recital. I was the largest girl in my class, and I was so ashamed about undressing in front of the other girls that I actually climbed into a locker at the auditorium in order to change into my leotard and tights. By the time I was 17, I’d gotten used to changing clothes around other girls, during gym or for theatrical performances. That year however, I got a role in my first community theatre show, and the dressing room of that theatre was a 23 foot-foot long fire corridor about five-feet wide, containing the costume racks, make-up counter and benches for the cast to use while not on-stage. Both men and women were expected to get ready in any of the remaining space available, and we all learned real quick-like how to focus on the task of getting dressed without worrying about the people next to you. Then I started doing Renaissance Faire’s, and if I had any shyness left at that point, it faded quickly at Faire. Some people equate working ‘behind the scenes’ at Faire to an entire summer at Woodstock, and that might not be too far off.

You camp the entire trip, and if you’ve ever tried getting into a Renn Faire costume, complete with girdle, while in a tent, then you’ll understand how the atmosphere at Faire soon demands that a person not value their privacy too highly. More than that, most Faire costumes are a pain to get into and out of, and I’ve had my fair share of experience helping men roll into their kilts, or tugging on someone’s corset strings for them. The nice thing is that everyone at Faire is open and accepting of others, no matter their shape, color, size, etc. At both Faire and theatre, I’ve noticed that people who’ve been around long enough have either one of two attitudes about full or partial nudity - they either don’t care, or they learn to ignore it.

So why am I talking about nudity? Well, I’ve had several experiences during this surgical process that have required me to be in a state of undress around all kinds of people - and as I’m neither at the theatre, nor at Faire, these experiences have definitely been outside my comfort zone - and for someone used to it like me, that’s saying something! When I first met my surgeon to prepare for my circumferential panniculectomy, one of the things we did was take pictures. Of me. Naked. That’s an activity not at the top of my ‘to-do’ list. Especially since these pictures will be going on his web site. Goody. Adding to the fun is having the nurses tell you to stretch out your extra skin so that it’ll show up better in the photos. On the morning of my surgery, my surgeon came in and took more nude pictures. This time he drew on my body the lines where he would be cutting beforehand, and then took about half a dozen pictures of that from various angles. The last set of pictures came just a few days ago at my last appointment, when he took pictures of the final results, again at six different angles.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m not exactly a blushing flower when it comes to being undressed in front of others when it’s necessary. I’ve gotten used to it, and let’s face it - if you’re going to be naked in front of someone, your doctor should be someone you’re comfortable with in that state of vulnerability. Even though I didn’t know my surgeon well, his manner was very clinical, and even on that first visit, I wasn’t worried he’d blanch and running screaming from the room at the sight of me (always a concern). I even found myself thinking of my body in terms of a canvas, or a block of marble, and my surgeon the artist/sculptor who would take my rough form and make of it a work of art. Maybe that’s a bit romantic given the situation, but it helped me not to be nervous about someone seeing my body outside of my comfort zone. Actors can be judgmental, but I’ve gotten used to that situation, and can change in front of others there without worry. At Faire, I know that not only do people not care about my size, it’s guaranteed to be one of the few places I can go where I’ll still be seen as beautiful, despite the size of my waist-line. It’s not like I’ve never been undressed in front of doctors before, but none of them have ever wanted a photographic record of the event, and it’s a little off-putting. I found a lot of comfort in viewing myself in these situations as the raw material from which something beautiful would come forth.

I’ve always thought myself a beautiful person, even if I didn’t think my outward appearance reflected that. Sculptor and artist, Michelangelo once said, when asked about his famous statue of David, that he simply ‘chipped away the pieces that were not David.’ The art was there, he just had to take away the parts of the marble that didn’t reflect the statue’s full beauty. That’s what my surgeon did for me - he chipped away the parts that were not Kimberlee, and he found the beauty hidden underneath. When you look at it that way, it’s hard to begrudge the master wanting to capture that process on film. I know I’d want to.