Most of you know I had a little plastic surgery done a year and a half ago. I am really honest and open about it because I am not ashamed of it. After breast-feeding two kids who stretched me out from their pregnancies, it was time for some medical intervention. I needed a pick me up, and not in the form of a martini at 4pm. My boobies had always been lopsided as well. They resembled an albino jelly donut with a nipple and a flattened baloney sandwich. Not symmetrical OR attractive. It cracks me up when women appear at the pool mid-June with enormous, perky jugs and act like God suddenly blessed them with puberty again. Nice try. We're not idiots. Denial makes you look stupid, not sexy.
I am really good at spotting fake titties. I will openly point them out to the unknowing at the gym, pool, or beach. There are some women who other moms assume have fake tits just because they are large or they like to show them off like a prized pair of show ponies. Some ladies are blessed with cans, it IS physically possible. Plus little Miss Victoria and her Secret have created an obscene amount of brassieres to help the less endowed. Sultan and I shopped around for breast types, perkiness, size, roundness, and jiggle factor for some time before taking the plunge. (Well I took the plunge in the operating room, he took it with his wallet.) People at our local pool probably thought we were porn agents the way we'd scope out nice cans and point to them openly. Most of the great ones are on women who have not had kids. Just wait, perky tit-toting ladies, your time will come.
I met a couple of surgeons before I met the one I trusted. A friend of mine has fabulous boobs thanks to him so it's nice to see the work in person. Upon placing the fake jubblies into your shirt, your hubby is asked to return to check it out. If you are familiar with the Simpsons, Sultan made an audible "Aarrggghhhh" noise like Homer Simpson lusting after a double cheeseburger. I believe his next words were, "Can I split this on two credit cards?" Sold to the highest bidder.
We planned the operation for the end of the school year but with enough time to recover before having to hit the pool. My mom would help out with the kids while I recovered. I did not tell my kids because there is such blatant honesty in all that young kids say. I know that shit would be talked about in casual conversation on the bus or playground and who wants to explain that to their kids? Then again I have a few acquaintances with really big mouths who tend to tell their kids everything. I'm just waiting for Sophie to come home and tell me her little friend told her her mom said I had fake tits and what exactly are "tits" anyways? As free with my language as I am, even I have some boundaries.
True to the show Dr. 90210, my doctor scribbled all over my body with a blue marker like a dry erase board in Bio class. I was given these blue paper, disposable thong panties which looked like an old school pad with a belt. SOOO hot! I stood in my flabby, starving (no food after 8pm the night before), saggy-titted glory as the nurses swabbed me down with iodine. I felt like a turkey being basted for a photo shoot...a really bad BEFORE photo shoot. My anesthesiologist, who seemed so out of it I wondered if he was drunk, inserted my IV line. He told me in a few seconds I really wouldn't give a crap about what I looked like because he was giving me "a little cocktail". Fuck, if this is what happy hour could be like I would do this a hell of a lot more often!!! Nighty night! Molly is out.
I woke up with 100 lbs. of hot blankets covering me and pressure on my chest. I didn't feel pain or any nausea (I was warned of massive need to puke post-op but my doctor, who really is awesome, gave me anti-nausea meds while I was under). My chest was bandaged so tightly that it looked like I was smuggling two travel pillows from Brookstone. I didn't shake, cry, speak too much gibberish (at least not any more that my non-sedated state tends to do), hurl, or cry in agony. I was looped beyond belief and couldn't figure out why my lips and eylelids were sticky with what felt like adhesive. I was apparently a "tough cookie" and my uneven tits were more of a challenge than had been anticipated. Told you they sucked.
They tape your eyelids shut and the breathing tube into your mouth. After slicing and dicing you up like a skirt steak at Benihana to even up what nature screwed you out of, they insert the false fun bags. Since my surgery was "reconstructive", I qualified for silicone implants. And before all of you get all up in arms.."Aaahhh!! Silicone implants totally burst! They're so unsafe! They're illegal! You are crazy!"...know this---my doctor is specifically involved in ongoing research with silicone and how the safety standards now are 100 times higher than they used to be 10 years ago. Plus silicone looks and feels more natural. (Those girlfriends who have asked I have obliged to having them poke my cans. This is not an open invitation to grope me in public but if you're curious, just ask..) If you're getting a pair and you can go this way, I suggest you choose this over saline.
Back to my difficulty. Doc sat me up after inserting the boobs and my nipples were cock-eyed like Marty Feldman's eyes in Young Frankenstein. When I nip out I don't want to scare people. So, take a deep breath and envision this without gagging, they had to actully cut my entire nipple off and reposition it up a bit. Fucked up, huh? That is really hard to hear (once you've come down off your surgery high) and even harder to peer under bandages to see. I was given pain meds that were threaded by tiny catheters under my boobs for three days. The drugs were pumped via a fanny pack (I swear to God the only time in my life you will ever see me with one of those monstrosities). Thanks to this and a healthy does of Vicodin, I felt no pain. That's not to say I wasn't really uncomfortable. The pressure was insane. My implants are under the muscle so it takes some time before your body relaxes to accommodate them. It truly felt like an elephant sitting on my chest.
Sophie knew immediately something was up. ""What happened to you?" were her exact words when she got home from school. I told her I had a few moles removed...a slight white lie. I did have some removed but I had a whole lot more stuff PUT IN. I had to hide the bruising under the orthopedic sports bra they make you wear for weeks. All around my boobs and near the incisions I bruised up pretty bad. Sophie even poked between my jugs to ask "What's THAT?" referring to dark purple bruise marks. I think my kids know something is different about me. It's nice that they are still young and innocent enough at this age to not possibly conceive how you get fake boobs. When the time comes and they ask me, I will tell them the truth. Sometimes they poke me in my "really big boobies" because they think it's hilarious.
So do I like my new boobs? Yes, they are lots of fun. I sometimes think they are a little big but only when I struggle to squeeze them into a dress or top I had prior to surgery. Most of my leotards don't fit anymore. If I don't wear an extra sports bra my ballet class goes from Rated G to Bom Chicka Wah Wah!! Why would I spend so much money on them when I could have spent it on something equally expensive, like a piece or two of jewelry? We have gotten a nice return on our investment together, so to speak. I wear these boobs 24/7. The novelty of a ring wears off and Sultan gets no joy in that. It is an amazing feeling to still feel sexy and youthful. I don't think I am a terrible vain person. This has improved my self esteem. I feel that if you have the means and the will for plastic surgery, by all means go for it. I can't shop for my bras at most regular stores anymore. I know, boo hoo for me. I went to a specialty store and bought a bra in 32 DDDD and one in 32 G. (I know this store preys on people like myself who are fooled into thinking a plain ol' D or DD won't fit my ginormous ta-tas. I doubt I'm really a G. That stands for "Good God!", by the way..) It is fun to fill out shirts. It is fun to have cleavage when I'm lying down with no bra. But most of all it is fun to do the Hans and Franz skit from Saturday Night Live. I can make them jump Arnold Schwarzenegger-style. After hearing that I KNOW you're either really curious or a little jealous...
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