The Fuss Over the Bust: Part 2
January 9, 2004 | 5 Comments
This post was written by guest author, Salina.
I feel the groove of the black marker lining my skin, icy gloved hands manipulating my flesh, the thin wisp of gown hovering at my waist. My mother and the nurse are grasping onto the curtains, closing them while I sit vulnerable and quivering. The day has come. And I am terrified. Ironically, I am in the recovery room even before the knife has grazed my skin and awaiting the IV to slink into my vein and bless me with blissful sleep. My handsome surgeon stops drawing, his magical hands a profound enigma to my uneducated eyes, and he crooks his head to the side. He is satisfied with his sketch, finally, and his eyes are full of wisdom and power. The IV pinches my skin. Even as I am asking the male nurse how long it takes for the anesthesia to take effect, I begin to feel drowsy as they wheel me into surgery. My heart is withering into shreds of nervousness and I look up into the white lights, remembering how much I had been waiting for this momentous day. It is 12/12/03, and I will never forget the Jesus shirt I was wearing that morning and the pigtails that I fashioned for myself. It was the strangest thing to be wheeled around on a gurney like all those patients on ER, and this was the last thing I remembered.
The throbbing. Cotton balls invaded my mouth. Wait, I was just extremely thirsty and my mother was right there next to me, thank goodness. She slid some ice onto my lips, and they immediately absorbed the moisture, my tongue urgent for more. Intense pain ripped through my chest and I felt tightness, very much aware that a part of me was missing. Morphine, Demerol, and Perkiset gushed through my body. Finally, I was awake and I had lost a total of 3 pounds of flesh from my chest. It was kind of like missing a limb, you know it’s gone but you can still feel it there. Except this time I immediately knew that I was smaller and lighter, the best feeling in the world cascaded over me even through my dehydration and the pain. I later realized that they had completely removed my nipples and my stitches went all the way around them, then down the middle of my breasts, and then made half moons under my breasts all the way to my armpits.
Almost 2 hours later, while floating in and out of consciousness, I was wheeled into my private room with my mom and I had an IV still in my hand, one with fluids the other with morphine. As soon as we got into the room, my mother left for only 10 minutes to get herself some food and it was then that the urge to pee hit me like a semi truck. I was alone, the nurse never came even after I hit the call button, and so just 2 hours after surgery I hoisted myself out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, IV pole and all. This happened every hour for the next 24 hours while the IV was still in me. The rest of the day drifted by silently, with the television and my mother accompanying me, along with a bunch of her co-workers that came to visit me from upstairs on the neo-natal unit. They were astounded at how well I was doing: I was clearly conscious, fully aware and able to make myself comfortable, and experiencing barely any pain.
The next morning I was discharged, and able to dress myself without much grimacing. I remember the first time I looked in the mirror at my flat chest, bandaged and taped, and noticed how wonderful I felt. I was a new woman, relieved of pressure and bondage, and able to lift my head up high at my newfound glory. My new small breasts were ugly, yellowing with bruises, and stitched to the max, but to me they were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. In the days following, I would wear only button-down shirts and admire my new flatness in the mirror as much as possible, knowing that I would never have such an experience again in my life. I couldn’t tolerate much movement in my upper body at all and could only sleep on my back for several days, but it was all worth it. Now, four weeks later, I can sleep however I want to and experience no pain whatsoever. It’s been a rapid recovery, and even my surgeon is surprised at how good I look in such a short amount of time. The surgery was a wonderful success with zero complications, and I have been healing rapidly due to good health and young age. I am so thankful to my surgeon and to my insurance company who paid the whopping 30,000 dollar bill.
Today I went on my very first run since having my new breasts. It was surely the most liberating run I’ve ever been on, and I can’t wait for the next few months to see what else I can do, wear, and experience. Let ya know soon…
The Fuss Over the Bust: Part 1
November 18, 2003 | 3 Comments
This post was written by guest author, Salina.
They are what every woman desires bigger and better, what every man persistently daydreams about, and what used to make the difference between a PG-13 movie as opposed to a rated R movie.
Breasts. Round, perky, supple, they come in every shape and size from barely A to, well, the largest I’ve ever heard were triple F’s. Women most often use them to their advantage, perhaps to get ahead in the work world by creating the magical art of cleavage and tantalizing the boss, or seducing a man whose weakness is never being able to reject the handful of breast that is being offered for his groping pleasure. There have been all sorts of bras to support these novelty body parts, everything from water bras to push-up bra to sports bras. They are emphasized in nearly every type of media, given pet names, and admired as the most beautiful body part on a woman’s body, most of the time. And having too much of them is not always a good thing.
As a naturally large-breasted twenty-year old female, I have always found my breasts somewhat overwhelming. I am a 34 D, almost DD, and I flat out despise my breasts. They have prevented me from wearing all the cutest trendy tops: halter tops, tube tops, spaghetti strap tank tops, triangle top bikini tops. I have always been envious of those small-breasted girls who flounce around braless in nothing but tiny tops and no excessive bouncing to worry about. These girls don’t give a second thought to how good they have it, how they never had to think twice about wearing the skimpiest top, and how they can exercise without pain. I love to run, but have always found it a strain to run with large breasts. Sure, I wear the tightest sports bra I can find, but after a while the red marks and lesions turned into engraved scars underneath my breasts. I can only wear thick-strapped, sporty looking bras on a daily basis in order to fit into most of my tops without looking like I’m trying to create an illusion of undue bustiness. As you can see, I am not one to be proud of my breasts. I am sure some of you girls and women out there know what I’m talking about: while most yearn for enhanced breasts, we want to just be able to exercise without having neck pain or, sadly enough, without having to duct tape our breasts down because sports bras just don’t do the trick. My dream? To one day know what it’s like to run fast because I won’t have my breasts weighing me down. To one day meet people, and not have them think of me as a large-breasted girl. I typically don’t think of myself as large all-around, but due to my breasts and how they are the central “theme” of my body, I want to be able to have them balance out with the rest of my body. Most of all, I want to be able to know I can be comfortable during the evening hours when wearing a bra is plain burdensome.
As a result, several months ago, March to be exact, I told my parents how I wanted to see a surgeon about a reduction. It took two months for them to become comfortable with the idea, and then two more months for our insurance to kick in and let us schedule an appointment with a surgeon. In July we were finally able to make an appointment, and then another two months later in September the most looked forward day of my life (besides having the surgery actually done) was before me. Pictures were taken, breasts were fondled (professionally), and grams were estimated. Another grueling two months passed, these two months being the most aggravating and anticipatory of my life, and I waited for the insurance to review my case file. Finally, on Wednesday, November 13th, two months and two days after the meeting with the surgeon, my insurance gave me an answer as to whether I was large enough, uncomfortable enough, and suitable enough to have the surgery be done absolutely free. Thankfully, the answer was yes. Surgery date is set for December 12th, and I am counting down the days until the day I can be blessed with a smaller chest. To be continued…