I showered, according to the instructions. While in there, I scowled at my cellulite-y butt, pinching it to make the dimples more apparent (what, like you haven't done it?). Today's the day you're gone, I thought to myself.

My boyfriend dropped me off at Marina Plastic Surgery, with the promise to return when summoned via text. Wearing loose fitting clothes, my hair pulled back into a wet bun, no makeup or moisturizer (as instructed) and a nervous-yet-excited attitude, I made my way into the building.

Once inside, it was a surreal experience. The people coming in and out of the doctor's office were on a first-name basis with the nurses and technicians. It felt like everyone had been there many times before. "Happy" by Pharrell played in the background, an eerie juxtaposition to the medical procedures being displayed on the giant flat screen in the lobby.

Since they had instructed me to wear nothing cosmetic on my body, I wasn't wearing deodorant, which was not-so-excellent when my nerves -- and sweat glands -- kicked in. What are you doing here, I thought. After all, I can hardly get a flu shot without entering a state of panic. How was I going to endure 30 minutes of needle-prodding?

Before I could bolt, my name was called. My nurse, sensing my jitters (and likely smelling them at this point), was very friendly and soothing. I gave myself a mental face-slap and told myself to get it together. Then, I stripped down and put on a hospital gown and a very tiny and unflattering pair of black underwear. It was time for the "photo booth."

When walking from my changing room to the photo room, I saw more boobs than I saw at Mardi Gras (though less than I've seen on "Game of Thrones"). I quickly figured out that they belonged to women who were getting before and after photos of breast augmentations. Rather than making me uncomfortable, seeing so much flesh put me at ease. Nudity is not an issue here -- the doctors and technicians have seen it all. Exposing my dimply butt suddenly seemed less terrifying -- and the entire experience felt incredibly freeing.

Once I got into the photo room, I took off my robe and stood in front of the camera wearing only my bra and the teeny underwear they provided me. The technician had me stand at different angles, and took photos of my thighs and butt at each one. I then had to repeat the process with my butt clenched (to really make the cellulite stand out). Just the thing to really boost a girl's confidence.

That's when Dr. Stevens came in with his Sharpie to mark up the spots where they would perform the treatment. (There were a lot -- 28, to be exact.)



Then it was off to the operating room.

Once in the operating room, it was time for the underwear -- and any sense of embarrassment -- to come completely off. I lied facedown on the table, my bum totally exposed, a full moon for all to see. Two technicians arrived and began to cover up all the parts of me that weren't being operated on (so, basically, they covered my calves). Then a resident came in. Between them, the doctor and the woman taking my photos, I honestly don't think so many people have ever seen my butt in one day.

Because you don't go under anesthesia for the treatment, you're free to listen to music/read a magazine/catch up on emails. Since my bare ass was out on the table, I felt weird casually pulling up some No Doubt on my iPhone and just lying there like it was NBD. Plus, I was technically working, so I figured I could use the time to get some questions answered and kill two cellulite dimples with one stone.

Once it was go time, they attached a suction machine to a spot that had been marked for removal. While my skin was suctioned up, they injected it with a numbing agent. Ironically, this was the most painful part of the procedure. It was kind of like getting an extended shot, multiple times. Luckily, it didn't burn (they add something to the local anesthesia, for which I am incredibly grateful). This was repeated for each of the 28 spots, starting at my thighs and moving up to my butt. Honestly, after the first few, it wasn't too bad -- until they got to my butt, which is apparently a sensitive place for everyone and hurt like hell.

Once my lower body was sufficiently numb, Dr. Stevens used the Cellfina machine to sever the connective tissue causing my cellulite -- which sounds scarier than it is. "The Cellfina system treats the connective bands woven throughout the fat that pull down the skin, creating dimpling seen on the skin's surface," explained Dr. Stevens. " Similar to a rubber band under tension, once released, the treated skin bounces back to smooth itself out."

It was over in just a few minutes, and I felt nothing throughout the entire procedure. I even took what they call a "Cellfina Selfie."

Then, so I could get off the bed, my legs and butt were smooshed (yes, that's the technical term) to get as much of the local anesthetic out of me as possible. TMI time: the anesthesia leaks -- for lack of a better term -- out of the tiny holes the needles and the Cellfina machine have made. Not out of your butt or various other private parts, like my editors assumed when I emailed them about how the procedure went.

Honestly, the worst part of the whole procedure (besides seeing my blood on the operating table) was being bandaged up and shoved into compression pants, which I wasn't allowed to remove until my post-op appointment the next day. Let's just say that going to the bathroom was very inconvenient, and leave it at that.

The next day at my post-op appointment, Stevens cut me free from my anesthesia- soaked bandages and sent me home to shower, a most-welcome event. After ogling my bruises, which looked like hickeys from aliens, I rubbed on some arnica cream to help them disappear faster.

I strapped myself back into compression pants (you have to wear them for at least a week to help with swelling and the healing process), put on my boyfriend jeans and headed to work. Luckily, the leaking had mostly stopped for me, so I no longer needed to wear padding. Still, I did have some residual anesthetic leak through my pants at the office. When my coworker alerted me of my "accident," I tied a sweater around my waist, like I was back in high school, trying to hide a period mishap. My post-Cellfina recommendation: wear really dark pants. Or do as other patients do and wear padding for a few extra days to absorb the combo of blood and anesthesia that comes out.

I expected to be sore for the next few days, but most of the pain came during that first night -- and wasn't even that bad. It felt like the equivalent of "leg day" at the gym. Speaking of which, you aren't allowed to work out for a few days after, so your body can heal. As someone who sticks to a pretty consistent CrossFit routine, this was the biggest annoyance of the entire experience.

On day nine, I went in for a second follow-up. Though I was still covered in bruises, Dr. Stevens was happy with the results. "Would you mind if I wrote a nine on your butt?" he asked me. This is probably the weirdest question I've ever been asked, but at that point it was hard to surprise me.

The number was to designate in the after photo what day it was in my treatment, so it really wasn't that odd a question (though the nine did linger on my now supersmooth booty for a few days). In just a little over a week, my butt and thighs were much smoother -- even when I clenched -- a miracle no amount of squatting could have achieved. And, said Dr. Stevens, things were only going to get better.