To read the precursor to this article click HERE.
So the day has come and gone. I have gone through with my mastopexy with silicone implants. Apparently they looked worse than I thought because people I didn’t tell about the surgery appear to notice them faster than people I told about my decision. These people just politely pretend not to notice I think; so there goes the big “secret.” The final result? With all of my hemming and hawing I could not be happier with my decision, though it didn’t all go according to plan…
The pain was bad, pretty bad, for weeks. Since I have children, I stopped taking vicadin after 3 days though I was given a weeks worth. I wanted to be on straight Tylenol before my husband went back to work so I could be coherent for my role as mommy – which I was determined to do on my own 4 days post-op. Good old mommy guilt, I thought “I chose to do this, I am not going to inconvenience people any longer than necessary.” Now perhaps the pain wouldn’t have been that bad had I continued on in my drug induced haze, but for the 3 days I was on vicodin I had multiple conversations and interactions of which I remember nil. One of my besties brought over pasta salad (what pasta salad?), my mom was here the entire day until 8pm the day after surgery (she was here?), I supposedly ate a hamburger at Mr. Burger (way not me), etc. I went to mass, e-mailed people, and everyone who knew said I acted quite chipper and sounded normal, though I remember nothing.
I had to wear a post-surgery bra for 11 days until my follow-up appointment. At that appointment my surgeon said “looks great, I’m really happy with it. You can just wear a sports bra now. No under wires for 3 months.” My jaw dropped and I stared at him. What the hell? I did NOT pay this much money to wear a sports bra under tank tops, sports bra under a strapless dress to a wedding, sports bra… you get the picture. His assistant, who openly tells patients that she has had enhancements, started to laugh at the innocence of my male doctor and said “Oh honey, if you don’t have a sports bra on, you don’t need anything!” Oh. Nothing? I don’t think I have been able to go bra-less since 1987, when I was 7. The surgeon laughed “Oh, I don’t know about that stuff, just support them when you can so when you get old it helps prevent sagging, but wear whatever you want, put on a bathing suit, whatever, just no under wires, wear a sports bra or shelf bra when you can.” Sweet dude.
I have since gone through my closet clearing everything out that doesn’t fit, and made room for those super sweet backless tops I have always wondered “Who could possibly wear those without a bra? How do people get support?” Well, now I know the answer. It’s people who pay thousands for a great plastic surgeon instead of buying bras – I can officially throw on any shirt I want and if I don’t have the right bra, I don’t need one. It rocks.
It’s not all fun and games though… the surgery did not turn out exactly as we had expected. I wrote in my previous post that one of my fears was “not really knowing what I will wake up with” as the surgeon goes in, cuts me open and basically plays with scalpels and implants until he thinks he did a good job. Turns out that the “great nursing boob” I mentioned in my last article was quite larger than the other breast and in order to get the stretched out skin to look correct and full he had to do 307cc’s on one side and 360 on the other. That is way bigger than my husband and I had okayed pre-surgery. He said “I sat you up multiple times, it’s just how it looked the best.” My husband and I were a little frightened as I looked like Pamela Anderson the first few days of swelling. While they are slightly bigger than we had planned, I totally trust my surgeon and hey, it’s kind of nice having breasts again so I’ll take what I can get. The doctor told me he thought I would be a 36C when all was said and done. I went to Victoria’s Secret today to get measured – 36D.
The one negative consequence of the surgery came as a surprise to both my husband and myself. My husband has formed a “love hate” relationship, as he calls it, with my chest. Our sex life has always rocked, but has never been better – I am confident and I have large breasts, 2 super sexy characteristics. My husband loves that side of them. The side he doesn’t like? When I wear a bathing suit and other people “check out my boobies.” My husband is actually very conservative and hates the attention they draw, though I don’t see it, he says I’m “naive.” He has been supportive of my choice to have the surgery, but has always expressed that his desire is just “so you look like you did before the kids – not fake and huge.” I was a small 36C, now I’m a 36D – his worst fear of the surgery has become a reality. I told the surgeon my husband thought they were too big and he said “I’ve never heard that response before.” We have talked to other men who’s wives or significant others have had the surgery and according to them all these feelings should subside as he realizes that I have not changed at all, just my chest has changed for the bigger. One of the first days, as they were gigantic, my husband even said “I have serious buyers remorse.” ”But I don’t, and he will slowly stop grimacing every time I put on a shirt that remotely accentuates my breasts.”
Another worry I had was scaring. I will tell you, there are serious cuts on my breasts and they are healing amazingly! My husband jokes that I have a 1-inch scar where our family doctor removed a mole that is way worse than the scars the plastic surgeon made on my breasts. If you loathe your “flaps of skin” as much as I did, the scars are nothing!
I wanted to get a second perspective so I e-mailed a friend who knew about the surgery and has seen me multiple times since and I said “So tell me the truth, are they obnoxious?” She wouldn’t lie and according to her: “They are obnoxious in a swimsuit, they look normal in most shirts, but when I wear a skimpy showy shirt it makes you wonder…” So I’ll take it. I actually have a chest now, no hangy flaps of skin, a nice round chest that I love. So go ahead, check out my boobies and wonder “Are those real?” Because I’m an open person, just come up to my face and ask. I’ll tell ya. “Nope. My kids ruined what I had, and the doc brought ‘em back with a little saline.”
So if no one else reads this besides the two readers who responded to the first pre-op article, I do want to be very clear about two things, which are also responses to their wonderful comments:
#1 Love your body. Embrace it. If there are ways to change things you can’t possibly change on your own and others don’t think you should change them, make yourself happy and don’t care what others think.
#2 My articles were meant to be honest about my experience so others can relate, NOT to encourage others to get a boob job. It’s a serious decision. It cost a lot of money. It was a lot of pain. Pain I will have to go through again in 10-20 years (though not as bad since I’ve already had the lift). If you don’t look in the mirror every day and think “this sucks” as you check out your chest then this is probably not for you, rock what you got! If it affects your life so that every time you get dressed you can’t help but think about it, go for it and rock what you can get!