Reveal waits until swelling subsides
I survived the surgery but am stuck in purgatory for awhile before reaching my final resting place of “Average Breast Size.”
Packs of frozen peas have replaced “The Twins,” following the removal of more than 4 pounds from my breasts. A few pounds came back with a vengeance, though, as I swelled following the reduction. Pre-surgery I was told the swelling would last a week or two, but now the doctor says it could last two to six months. Hence, why I am still in purgatory – they may be half gone, but their spirit resides.
Don’t mistake my complaining; I’m happy I finally did it. I wish, though, that people would quit asking, “Don’t you feel great? I bet you wish that you would have done it 10 years ago!” If they don’t pull it in, I may just have to flash them. And trust me, if you saw them at the moment, that’s a scary threat.
Yep, they’re sore and scarred, but the swelling is what’s driving me mad. I know the scars will fade but don’t trust that the swelling will. I believe my breasts held such a prime spot for so long – they’ll be damned if they’re going to forfeit their parking space.
Though it will be months before things settle, I’ve noticed a surge in my self-confidence. Actually, that’s a bit of a stretch – rather I’m not nearly as modest since my breasts no longer hang to my stomach.
I experienced quite a revealing scene even before surgery. As I sat on the hospital bed, legs and breasts hanging over the edge, my doctor drew on them where he would cut. He had the orchestra view, with my good friend in the balcony with a full overview. Their comments echoed one another.
“Well, you are definitely in the right place, hon,” the doctor said, wiping around his protractor, taking measurements.
My friend followed, “Gosh, Court, if there was ever a breast reduction made for anyone, it would be you.”
Glad everyone’s in agreement, can I cover up now?
My heart ran a bit faster as the anesthesiologist entered my cubbyhole. (My procedure was done in a surgical room in the doctor’s office.) I kept asking my friend if my gown was closed enough so no one could see my bum … which leads to my next revealing scene.
Not only does insurance not pay for one night in the hospital, it doesn’t cover wheelchairs either. After I received the “happy drug,” the nurse escorted me, IV and all, to the operating room on foot. Not only could I barely walk, but I pulled a Jack Nicholson and flashed everyone in the waiting area with a full-on shot of my bum.
Humor has sustained me through the past week or so when the pain was too uncomfortable. My girlfriends took care of the rest.
How many friends will take you to surgery and not only have to see your huge breasts but your naked bum too? And then follow up that night with changing your drains and bandages? Another close friend in Australia set her alarm in the middle of the night to call and wish me luck as I headed out the door. She then spent the next few days researching online whether the extra swelling was normal. Their support plus daily phone calls from my mom have reminded me how loved I am.
At my pre-op appointment I wished I had a partner there to hold my hand and tell me it’d be all right. After surgery, I realized that partners come in all forms – even more so when you don’t have a built-in one anymore.