Customized
In early February (this year), I emailed a plastic surgeon’s office expressing interest in coming in for a consultation for a mastopexy or breast lift. No implants. And if there was an associated cost for the consultation. It was on a weekend and early the following week, after ignoring 2 calls, I listened to a voicemail from a ‘Patient Care Coordinator.’
I called back. We talked. I said: I’m 44; breast fed my son for 2 years; lost 70 pounds; find myself increasing noticing sagging; when can I come in for a consult and what’s the total cost. The Patient Care Coordinator said: she is a similar age; has a kid around the same age; had the procedure — with implants; went on a hike the day after surgery; I can come in on this day; no cost for consultation; total cost ranges between so-and-so.
As I push through, I find more and more in myself. Like, as your vision changes and you get a new prescription for glasses. I become clearer and clearer into focus.
After the talk, I wasn’t sure if I would go through with it. Thoughts around money, healing time, family and arrangements for Keegan ran their course.
And still, I submerged myself into YouTube videos about mastopexy, breast lifts, breast lifts with augmentation, breast lifts without augmentation, fat transfer, regretting fat transfer, what to wear for surgery (jk), scars, scar healing, bras, overall feelings about the procedure and costs. I watched, listened and looked at results. I heard my own wants and needs for my body, aesthetic, experiences and approach to aging expressed. As I got closer to the appointment, I knew it was a done deal.
The Patient Care Coordinator fit my expectations. Tall, thin, white, blown-out brown hair [model and wealth signals], high heels, pencil skirt. After another talk, I was introduced to my plastic surgeon who explained his background, experience, the surgical process, likely results and after care. He measured / examined my breast and then positioned one in place to give me an idea of my results. After my surgeon and the PCC left the room, so that I could re-dress, I started working on my deposit. Moved money from savings. In the PCC’s office, I applied for loan, even though I had already being approved for another. She said this loan was better and that they would approve it right away. They did.
I left, deposit paid and voice in my head boasting ‘you aint playin.’
I took pics of my before. Told my titties they were getting customized, not because I hated them but, because they had earned it. I reminded myself about frequent boob/nipple checks due to shifting. Reminded myself about my deflated breast slipping out of bras and bralettes whenever I bent over. Reminded myself that occasionally Keegan would roll over on to a nipple during the night and I would have to pull my nipple free.
An internal voice said ‘they nursed Keegan brilliantly and you should love them as they are’. And an external voice expressed concern about the male gaze, seeking perky breast like a teenager, questioned my idea of a womanly body, said if I was really happy with myself I wouldn’t need it and that it won’t end with just a breast lift. Told me to get fitted for a good bra.
While acknowledging validity in both voices, with grace, I left them on the floor. I expressed how eternally grateful I was for my past and for who I am becoming.
The week of surgery, I brought zip-up sports bras, confirmed arrangements for Keegan and my pick up/care post surgery. I got a massage, had an acupuncture session, bought post op food and then, peacefully laid down with my decision.
I woke up thinking I was remembering a dream. The surgery went routinely. I had no pain, just tightness and effects from anesthesia. A few days later, insane itching. As my healing continues, I feel sharp twinges in my breast tissue and around my nipple, similar to the sensation when producing milk or during menstruation.
My surgeon sent before, during (one up, one down) and after pictures. I got home (my sister’s house) slept, ate a few hours later and watched t.v. My surgery was on a Friday; Monday, I drove myself to my 9 a.m. post op appointment, had my drains removed, saw my customized boobs, cried, hugged my surgeon, went home and later picked up Keegan from school.
I feel grown, sexy and divinely feminine.
I used to be a unreliable narrator. I acted on the idea that I was internally flawed. Looked at the my emotional wants, my desired self image, relationships and what I could achieve from the view point of a flawed narrator. The more I dig, the more I find. It isn’t hypocritical to seek and admire spirituality while seeking and admiring external beauty.
