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The Truth about Breast Augmentation Surgery

by Barbera

Nov 7, 2005


I recently had a breast augmentation and mastopexy (lift).  Why would I bother to share such a personal experience?  Because had I known exactly what I was getting myself into I think it is quite likely I would have just learned to live with the sag and merely increased my Victoria’s Secret budget. 


If I truly am a Heartless Bitch; if am confident and have no self-esteem issues, just why the hell would I even consider plastic surgery?  Because even though we can be confident and in total control in many areas of our life, there are still places where we can have body issues. In my mind I looked like a woman with the body of a 22 year old and the breasts of an 80 year old.  I exaggerate to make a point and also because I recognize that our physical flaws are always much larger and more noticeable in our mind than in the actual perception of those around us. 


The decision to undergo any kind of elective surgery should never be taken lightly and I certainly gave myself considerable time.  After many months of research into what the actual procedure entailed and having a clear understanding of the risks involved I was finally ready to start interviewing surgeons.  Again, many months passed and I checked out several surgeons and finally found one that I was confident would give me the results I was looking for.  He had an impressive education and an impeccable reputation both of which were reflected in his fees.  However, this is not the time to bargain hunt.  Save money at the discount mall, clip coupons to your hearts content, shop at second-hand stores, whatever, but do not choose a surgeon based on cost.  As a matter of fact, I personally don’t think this should even be a factor when selecting a surgeon. 


Prior to making my final decision, I spoke with several friends and acquaintances that have had an augmentation about their experience and overall satisfaction.  The number of women who have had this done, and were willing to talk about it, was surprising.  Doesn’t anyone have natural breasts anymore?  I almost felt silly for waiting so long. 

After many sleepless nights, anxiety attacks and genuine concern over my rising blood pressure the day finally arrived.  My surgeon recently opened his own surgical facility, state-of-the-art and over-staffed by public hospital standards with every amenity you could possibly need.  It felt more like a spa than medical facility.  All of this is done to make patients feel relaxed and at ease.  It certainly worked on me. 


The last thing I remember is talking to a nurse who was explaining to me what each syringe she so carefully injected into my IV contained.  The last one was just something to make me relax.  That was the last one all right.  Lights out. 


Less than three hours later I woke up so whacked out I didn’t even know what day it was let alone recall where I was and what I was doing there, at least for a few blissful minutes.  This is when some of the advice I received came in handy.  I had been warned that initially you are quite swollen (duh) and the implants sit up very high, your boobs literally start right under your neck.  Of course, knowing this and seeing this are two very different things.  I peeked.  It was difficult to see much with all the bandages but it was enough to give me a case of the freakouts anyway.   Yet another good reason for all those drugs they had given me, I was too far out-of-touch with reality to care. 


I spent the next three days propped up on pillows with any necessities (water, phone, drugs, and the TV remote) inches from my hands, my mobility being severely and I mean severely limited. Think of having your arms attached to your sides from the shoulder to the elbow and only being able to move your arms from the elbow down.  As you can imagine this makes even the smallest task such as brushing your teeth, taking a drink of water or god forbid, using the bathroom, extremely difficult.  Any movement that required using muscles from my neck to my naval was very painful. Try doing something as easy as getting out of bed without those muscle groups. To complicate things even more, I had a catheter (containing pain medication) with a tube inserted on the side of each breast. At this point I felt terribly foolish, having paid so much for this torture.

Obviously, taking a bath is out of the question but you can shower after two days. Having realized that the horrible odor that wafted passed my nose on occasion was coming from me – I chanced the shower. Without assistance this would have been impossible.  This was the first time that I removed the bandages and could see everything.  I knew I had sutures, was swollen and could expect bruising but nothing prepared me for what I can only describe as what it must look like to be beaten with a baseball bat.  My entire chest area, sides and underneath my breasts were deep purple and the areas that weren’t as dark were that sickly greenish yellow that reminds you of things like vomit and snot.  All I could think was, holy shit – what have I done?


At my initial consultation the surgeon was quite forthcoming with “before” and “after” pictures, however, the AFTER photos are  3+ months post op. I guess if they showed pictures of the first few days after surgery (thus giving you a very clear understanding of what to expect) it would be too much of a deterrent.  Hmm, I wonder if my surgeon will include these pictures, taken of me two days post-op, in his portfolio?  [Warning – graphic] 

Even though I did feel better after the shower, my body was swollen and I felt like the Pillsbury dough boy with concrete breasts.  Who knew they could feel this heavy? The next few days were a drug induced haze but even that can get boring. On day four the catheter was empty and I couldn’t wait to pull it out (easy to do but kind of creepy).  Having the extra “appendage” was a further hindrance to my mobility.

I felt significantly better by day five and was able to move around though slowly and rather robotically. I’d say that the progress from then to the present is actually quite amazing.  The first week was definitely the worst.  If it weren’t for modern pharmaceuticals I don’t know how I would have made it through.


It took over three weeks for the bruising to fade to levels that were more like those you would see on a clumsy child and just as long for the sutures to finally dissolve.  At just about a month, I’m still sore, still unable to do any form of exercise other than walking and ironically, that 22 year old body is starting to look and feel like that of an 80 year old.  It will be several more weeks until I’m back to my old self.  The process is frustrating but then again, I never have been a very patient patient. 


As for the results?  I got exactly what I asked for – nice shape, fullness and no droop, without looking too noticeably size-enhanced.  They match perfectly and I’m sure I’ll be pleased with the final result (it takes months for things to settle). Would I do it again? NEVER, ever, ever, ever.  Next time they droop and I know because of age/time/gravity it will happen, they can just stay there.  I can’t really say I regret it but knowing what I do now I can say that I will never have another invasive procedure done unless it is to save my life.  I could have saved myself a lot of pain and taken one hell of vacation instead.  Live and learn. 

- Barbera

Copyright© Barbera, Heartless Bitches International (heartless-bitches.com) 2005
Copying or reproduction (in whole or in part) on any medium (such as in print or on the web) is expressly forbidden without written permission from HBI

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