Today, I’m 32 years old, very happily married with two little girls. I am content with the way I look – but it hasn’t always been this way. It wasn’t so long ago that I was so self-conscious about my extremely flat chest that I was in a state of desolation. In fact- when I think about it, the past three years of my life is best described as a stressful emotional roller coaster…. which, at different points, had me laughing, crying, exultant and miserable.
Thankfully, my story has a happy ending…and I can honestly say, the ride was worth it!
So…………where did my journey begin………
As a developing teenager, I was never what you’d call "blessed" with big boobs…. but to be honest with you it didn’t really seem to bother me and I accepted it. After all I was never a big person, and only being a petite size 8, I’d have looked out of proportion with big knockers!
My problems started after my second daughter arrived in July 1998. Now, any mother who’s gone down the route of "Breast is Best," won’t hesitate to tell you what midwives and health visitors don’t. That is, after being used as ‘bottles’ for some time, your boobs will completely change – they loose shape, elasticity and size. But, as I’d managed 6 weeks with my first daughter, it was natural to try again. Success! I fed her for a whole 6 months and although my boobs seemed a little saggy I didn’t really notice them shrinking. It wasn’t until July 1999 that I realised something was wrong. My boobs had seemingly shrunk away to nothing…and I mean nothing…not really even a flap of skin! From side on, with my small frame, I could have passed as a skinny teenage boy!
I guess the turning point of my plight was during a ‘girlie’ conversation with my best friend – I showed her my chest to illustrate why I was feeling so down about the situation – her reaction was written all over her surprised face – even before she announced - "Oh my god, that’s abnormal, Go and see your GP".
Now, I knew she was right, indeed, she had confirmed what I already knew, but I felt too embarrassed about putting my non-existent boobs on display to anyone – even the confidence of my GP. But, her reaction played on my mind and a few days later I made an appointment. Now, at this point BA hadn’t occurred to me as an option, I thought it was perhaps a hormonal problem!
Thankfully, my GP was very understanding, but I was told that it wasn’t hormonal and there was nothing he could do for me at all… except refer me to see a consultant with a view to BA.
That was 4th October 1999. I waited and waited and eventually I received an appointment to see the consultant in April 2000. I can’t find words to describe how nervous I was! My husband came with me for moral support. He was so supportive through the whole tribulation and kept telling me he loved me no matter what, but, as I explained to him, this was an issue I had with myself, I so wanted to feel good about my body and was facing up to how I had felt for a long time.
At the consultants, I was weighed and checked over and waited nervously, then the moment arrived I would have to show "them" off again. I was terrified that I would have to endure a physical examination, but my worries ended when I displayed my chest to the consultant - he took one look and said, "Ok, I see" and that was it!!! Of course he didn’t need to do a physical, as there was nothing to physically examine!!!
He then explained to me that I would need to see a physcologist, as both needed to be in agreement for me to qualify for the operation on the NHS.
Back, to the waiting game again. It went on and on and on. I coped with my appearance during this time with my ‘chicken fillets’ and they soon became my new best friend. I would NOT leave the house without them. I became a pro at deceiving people, and learnt all the right clothes to wear etc so as not draw attention to them.
Still the wait went on…Finally, I received an appointment to see the physcologist in February 2001…. I felt like I’d been waiting a lifetime. During the appointment, I decided the best thing was to be as honest as possible about my feelings…and I was.
At the end of the session she said she agreed that I should get this done on the NHS!!
The relief! I was going to get new boobs. No more chicken fillets. No more avoiding mirrors. All I had to do was wait.
What a wait! It felt like a lifetime. I had been told that I was on the waiting list but that my original consultant had retired and I was now under the care of a new one, who wanted to see me.
Another appointment arrived for June 2001…3 days before this was cancelled and changed to August 2001!! Dismay was mine for at this appointment with the new consultant, I discovered that I hadn’t been on the waiting list at all, as he had wanted to see me first!! Imagine how this made me feel – I was furious - for the past six months I’d thought I was on a waiting list…. and now I found out I’d only just been added!!
Back, to the waiting game again.
August 2002, and I’ve been on the new consultants waiting list for a year so I decided to phone to see how far along the list I am – and if there was anyway to judge when I might get my BA. My call was in vain as I was told the usual "don’t know", "hard to stay"; in fact, I felt inferior and selfish by the consultant’s secretary because he clearly deals with a lot of Mastectomies and Breast Reconstruction for cancer patients. I was told that my BA would not happen "in the near future" and to call back in October. However, as it happened, I didn’t have to phone back as they phoned my GP instead. My GP is told to inform me there will be nothing available until the New Year at least. Half of me felt like I was being pushy but then I also felt like I needed some hope to cling onto, (emotional roller coaster again!) a date would do even, a year from now. Just something to look forward to and to know that I am going to get it done.
I had the usual trauma over Christmas. What do I wear for my Christmas works night out!! As everything that time of year is one shouldered or backless, no good for me! As usual I have to wear something very conservative.
New Year 2003 brought with it the hope that this may be the year?? I really hoped so. On the 6th January I nervously called the receptionist at my GP’s. She then phoned the consultant’s secretary for an update. When she phoned me back and my hopes are dashed because the consultant has a new secretary and she’s snowed under as she’s just taken over. She promised to call for me in the next week.
I was dismayed. The waiting game started again.
As I turn 32, and felt a little disheartened with the whole situation, and felt like it was never going to happen. On 30th January 2003, GP’s receptionist called me, apparently, I’m told, as of 24th January 2003 I have been put on a ‘waiting list initiative programme’ and will be seen within 9-12 months. I felt so depressed, more waiting! - although clung with two hands to the hope that it will be this year!
The next day, 31st January 2003, I received another call from the GP’s receptionist, she sounded so excited and I wondered why she’d called me again so soon –
I was floored by her news!!
I was asked to go in on Monday and have my Operation on Tuesday! A cancellation had come up and the slot was mine. Back on the emotional roller coaster - I was shaking with a mixture of nerves and excitement. I truly couldn’t believe it!! This waiting game was finally over…. with the relief of waking from a nightmare and realising it was a dream - I called the hospital. I am told a letter is in the post 1st class!
Of course - I was frantic with excitement – I called my best friend, my support and my rock. She was nearly crying with joy for me for she knew how much this meant to me.
At 2.00pm I received another phone call. They couldn’t take me on Monday after all, (I thought my heart was going to stop!)…But they have a slot on Thursday instead. (Phew!) I was so relieved – and thought, at least it gives me a few extra days to prepare.
It was a different Consultant who was to perform the Op, but I am reassured that he was very good. I was booked to go in on Thursday 6th February 2003 and the Op was to take place on Friday 7th February 2003.
The next few days were manic - I spend them preparing, making sure everything was done around the house. Work was great! no problem with my short notice leave of absence. My husband was so supportive too. I thought it was fate as he’d just started a 2-week holiday from work so he was be able to take care of the girls.
When Thursday morning arrives, I was anxious and keyed up all rolled into one. We arrived at the hospital, and I had to have blood taken and have a health check. I talked to a pleasant doctor and we discussed the ins and outs of a BA. I made my way to the ward. My husband stayed for ½ an hour, but I told him to go, I felt there was no point him waiting around. I was due to see my consultant later on, and so I agreed to call my husband with the details, time of Op etc.
Getting settled into the ward was a bit awkward if I’m honest. The lady in the bed opposite has just had a mastectomy and a reconstruction, and the girl in the bed next to me has had a reduction. I was thinking – and I’m here I am for a brand new pair of boobs! I actually felt as though I shouldn’t have been there. Both fellow patients were really friendly, but I still felt a bit uncomfortable.
When my consultant came to see me, I found him very pleasant and reassuring. He discussed many issues and even drew me some pictures of placement of the implant etc. I laughed as he gave me the choice of 260cc or 300cc, guess which one I took!! The 300cc of course!
My new boobs are round silicone cohesive gel; my consultant explained that they would be placed
under the muscle and the incision will be just above the crease. I was then sent to the photography department for one of those horrific "before" pictures. Thankfully, it was a female taking the photos – see, I was even self-conscious at the hospital!
When my consultant came back again - he marked me with black pen ready for the op which I am told will be early afternoon.
I was filled with nervous anticipation - but the people on the ward were terrific, the nurses were pleasant and supportive. In fact waiting there made me realise how amazing these women were - 75% of them were there because they had endured mastectomies and/or reconstruction…yet spirits were high.
Finally, a nurse arrived with an injection – which went in my tummy, must admit it was quite sore, I am informed that it’s to thin the blood.
I couldn’t sleep, as I was apprehensive about the general anaesthetic, as I’d never had one before – and I was looking forward to the pre-med which was supposed to make me feel calm.
Friday
7th February 2003.
The day I have waited
with anticipation for over 3 years had finally arrived. I was surprised
actually by how calm I felt at this point. I took a shower and put on
my
paper knickers and gown, and those "oh so attractive" anti-embolism
stockings!!
Just as I was wondering when I’d get my pre-med. two men arrive to take me to theatre, they inform me that I’m not listed to get a pre-med!! I took a deep breath – and got ready to say goodbye to my flat boyish chest. A womanly figure would soon be mine……………………………………..
Overwhelmed by the stark realisation that I had finally reached the "light at the end of the tunnel" – any ‘anaesthetic’ fears were left at the door of the operating theatre, I was overcome by a sense of calmness and drifted into a drug induced slumber.
Reality hit me like a high-speed train – one that had careered violently into my chest…or at least that’s how I felt in the recovery room when I came around! My surgeon appeared through the mist of my pain and happily informed me that everything had gone to plan. Interestingly, he mentioned that I couldn’t have gone any bigger than the 300cc’s I’d chosen! However, I must say, given the agony I was feeling at that precise moment, there were no hopes of becoming the next "Jordan" to dash!
Somnolent with pain and the remnants of the anaesthetic, I was wheeled back up to the ward, feeling drowsy, but contented. My fellow patients, all anxious to get a glimpse of my new assets, greeted me. With all eyes firmly fixed on me, I gently manouveuerd my arms, pulled out my gown and glanced towards my chest. Filled with a mixture of awe, achievement, relief and disbelief – I beheld the sight of ME with BOOBS! Beautiful. Perfect. Pert. Shapely. Big Boobs…on MY chest!
For that second, in that instant, there was no pain, no stress, and no emotional rush. Just me and MY breasts – and the knowledge this I was living a moment I had dreamed about for so long.
I had prior warning from the surgeon that I may wake up with tubes from my armpits called ‘drains’ for excess fluid, and he was right. Awkwardly poking out of an incision in my armpits. They not only felt quite uncomfortable – they looked it! As I said, I’d been warned out this, but my husband, who visited me later that night hadn’t. He was visibly shocked by how much apparent pain & discomfort I was enduring. Of course he was shown my new boobs, and though he was delighted for me, (as men do in these situations,) he felt helpless to my cause…yet his presence was comfort in itself. Thankfully, a nurse administered some stronger painkillers in an attempt to grant me a few hours ‘pain free’ sleep. I even needed assistance to make it to the toilet that night, as I felt so tight across my chest and could barely move. The strong painkillers didn’t work, and I endured a restless, uncomfortable night. Usually a "front sleeper," I was propped and padded with support pillows…. tubes poking out from my armpits and in a strange, unfamiliar place. My only comfort on this long night was that I had boobs and holding on to this thought – saw me through until the morning.
DAY TWO
Although I was feeling
slightly more positive on the day following the operation, I was still
shocked by how naive I had been about how painful this was going to be.
But I did console myself with the fact I wouldn’t have to endure any
more
pain. This comfort was crushed later that morning, as the nurse arrived
to remove the drain from the left side. She mentioned that it would
feel
"uncomfortable". It was in fact sheer agony! – I am not sure if it was
just a combination of exhaustion, hormones and the bolt of pain that
shot
through my entire body, but I burst into tears as she began to tug it
away.
Genuinely surprised at my reaction, the nurse was very apologetically,
and explained that she thought the vein might have been on a nerve! As
I was now a paler shade of white and feeling rather ‘green’, she made a
quick exit to get me a cup of tea.
Things did get better as the day ticked on. I managed to climb out of bed and become slowly mobile. The ‘tightness’ I had been experiencing seemed to ease slightly and I suppose I actually began to feel a little normal. Again more visits from my hubby and my best pal, (who insisted on making me laugh…which wasn’t funny at all to me!!) Technically, I should have gone home on this day - but the right drain was continuing to fill, so I had to wait for the surgeon to come and see me on Sunday night.
DAY
THREE
Sunday afternoon brought
a welcomed visit from my girls, accompanied by my husband and mother in
law. Shamelessly I even whipped my top up and put my boobs on show for
my mother-in-law!! Later that night with my husband at my side, the
surgeon
arrived and checked my drains. All was satisfactory and I was given the
all clear to go home once the drain had been removed. The thought of
this
procedure sent a wave of fear and dreaded anticipation through my
entire
body. I clung to my husband’s hand, feeling myself hyperventilating
before
she even started pulling. Thankfully, history didn’t repeat itself; the
drain was removed without any discomfort at all!
I recall the journey home as painfully slow, and I felt every bump on the road. But the relief to be home was overwhelming…. back with my family, in my house with my new boobs…it’s hard to find words to describe the way I felt – almost as if an array of emotions passed through me simultantiously.
That night, in order to allow me unlimited space in our bed, my husband kindly offered to sleep in the girl’s bedroom he helped me undress and eased me into bed and I drifted of into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Over the next few days my husband became my primary carer, I just don’t know how I could have managed without him. He dressed me, helped me to get in and out of the bath, cared for the girls and looked after the house. I don’t think I have ever needed him more during our 8-year marriage than I did in those first few days.
6
DAYS POST OP
Wednesday 12th of
February sees me back at the hospital to have all the dressings
removed.
Happily I am reassured that everything is normal and all the stitches
are
healing adequately. My new boobs now have a new home for the next month
– inside a 34C sports bra. They still felt numb and quite tender but
they
were not visibly bruised on the whole appeared to be healing okay. At
this
stage I did notice a pain in my armpit. Unsure of what was causing it,
I made a mental note to mention it to my consultant during my
appointment
next week.
2
WEEKS POST OP
I am actually amazed
at my lack of inhibition as I see the consultant on Wednesday 19th
February,
especially when I recall how self-conscious I was before my operation.
Without concern, I proudly display my chest to him for examination.
Although
satisfied with my progress, he does notice that my left boob is
slightly
higher than the right one, but I was assured that, with time, it should
drop.
I voiced my concerns about the pain in my armpit and realised that this was not a normal ‘after effect’. The consultant was unable to make an accurate diagnosis, as he was unsure exactly what it is – however, as it stemmed from where the painful drain was removed, he suggested we wait to see if it will clear up on its own. I have another appointment in 4 weeks time.
Friday
21st February.
I was considering
returning to work after this weekend until I am alarmed to discover
small
painful lumps in my armpits. I panicked and telephoned my GP for an
appointment
the next morning. I am diagnosed with what may be start of an
infection,
put on antibiotics and signed off work for another week.
Once the antibiotics kick in after two days, I notice that the lumps are beginning to thankfully disappear.
And
now……………….
So that’s how I arrived
at my "happy ending" – as the contented 32-year-old wife & mother
that
I am today. I continue to work through the physical ‘healing’ process
of
the BA – but am now beginning to cope with the normal routines of daily
life. For the first time ever, I am able to glance into the future with
my self-esteem and confidence at an all-time high. The flat chested,
skinny
teenage boy has died –
leaving a happy, well-developed person…who is ALL WOMAN!
So
to him - Thank you……………….and I love you.
Post Op Pics
4 Weeks Post Op
Almost 5 Weeks Post
Op
Nearly 5 Weeks Post
Op
5 Weeks Post Op
5 Weeks Post Op Right
& Left Sides
Left Side Slightly
Higher Than Right
Scars Barely
Visible
at 5 Weeks Post Op
