Okay. This will be my last blog post about my boobs. I promise. Unless they do something really cool like explode or cure cancer or something. I just figure I have taken you all on my journey this far, that maybe you would like to know the results of my breastical surgery.
I FUCKING LOVE THEM. They are round and perky and I have cleavage for days and man oh man do I love my new tits.
My surgery was scheduled for a Tuesday at 3:00 pm. I spent the entire day a bundle of nerves. I told Mavrick that I was more nervous about getting by boobs done than I was about skydiving. At least when you skydive, if there is a fuck up, it’s only your problem until you hit the ground. With plastic surgery if there is a fuck up, you are living with that shit until you save up enough money to fix it.
Plus, it IS surgery. You could die. But, you could also die crossing the street, and I still do that.
And much like skydiving, I just wanted to get it over with. Get me on the table, knock me the fuck out, and let me wake up with boobies. I had a pre-op meeting with my doctor, and asked him one more time about scarring. Turns out, I wasn’t going to have any, because he was cutting out my nipples.
I’m going to pause here and give you all a minute to think about what it might like to have your nipples cut off. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Yes. That’s right. It’s fucking terrifying. Especially if you are like me, and happen to find your nipples a welcome addition to the sensation family during sexy time. The one and only time in my life I have come close to passing out (pre-surgery) was the day I got my nipples pierced. There is just something so off-putting about having a giant needle rammed through your nipple and then having it bleed.
Anyway! That was the price for no scarring. So, I go back, I get my IV, I go nighty night, and the next thing I know, the nurse is waking me up and telling me Mavrick will be here soon. The deed was done. I looked down. Two strange and unfamiliar swollen mounds rose up to meet my gaze. Holy shit. Those were mine.
I wish I could tell you step by step, emotion by emotion, how it felt to go to sleep with my boobs and wake up with the perfect rack, but in all honesty, I spent the first few hours in a drug induced haze. I didn’t fully come to until about three hours later, sitting on my couch hunched over a plate of Pad Thai.
My new girls were firmly snugged into a surgical bra, a bra that would not leave my body for 72 hours. That’s how long I had to refrain from showering, lest I disturb the stitches holding my nipples on. Some people might have been tempted to peek. It would have been all too easy to take the bra off for a few seconds and admire my Dr.’s handiwork. Truth was, I was scared. I was so afraid to see them while they were still scarred and bloody and bruised that I was actually dreading the first unveiling.
My 72 hours hit, and I had to get a shower. I mean, I HAD to. The baby, Mavrick, and Jr. were all giving me a wide berth, and my hair looked like I dipped it in Crisco. Whether I was ready or not, the boobs were coming out.
I stood in front of the mirror. I took off my bra. Aaaaand. Wow. It looked like one giant bruise. From the top of my breast to my underboob, my tits were covered in a mottled patchwork of purples. And my nipples were encircled with surgical tape. This wasn’t looking so hot.
I got in the shower, removed the surgical tape, and promptly almost passed out. Mavrick had to help me to the bed, where I laid soaking wet, hyperventilating. That’s what seeing your nipples stitched on like you were Frankentits will do to a lady.
The good news is that when your boobs look like someone’s freakish science experiment, you can only get better from there! And that’s what happened. Every day they looked better and better. In the middle of all this healing was Mavrick’s family vacation. Remember how I didn’t want anyone to know? HA HAHA. I basically walked in like, HI NICE TO SEE YOU THANKS FOR HAVING US I JUST HAD MY BOOBS DONE.
I figured if I was going to be fake, the least I could do was be honest about it. This also meant that while everyone else was boating, skiing, tubing and wakeboaring, I was sitting around in a Merlot and Vicodin enduced haze. Which really isn’t a bad thing.
So, I’m over two weeks post-op now. The gals are coming along quite nicely, and even my nipples now resemble actual nipples, as opposed to looking like someone was trying to stitch a target onto the middle each boob. I’m very happy with the results, I’m glad I had them done, and I’m also glad I can stop talking about it now.
God help us all if I ever have to get anything done to my labia.
Yours in Surgical Alteration,