Yesterday I had an appointment for a follow-up with my doc.
I was 9 days post breast reduction surgery.
I have to admit, I love hanging out at the plastic surgeon's office. I wish I could get a job there because I have undying curiousity about the people I see coming in and out. Of course, if I did get a job at a plastic surgeon's office I'd promptly get fired for writing about the patients. Because … how could I not?
During this visit I saw a mother bring her teen daughter in for a breast augmentation consultation. I wanted to slap her in the face. I'm sorry, but I did. If the girl becomes an adult and wants implants, then power to her. But what message does a mother send her daughter by telling her she NEEDS them at 15-16 years old? Is it any wonder girls in our society are growing up with such huge self esteem issues? Are they doing implants on children in places other than Orange County?
OK, I'm done ranting. For now.
Women were in and out of the office at a steady rate. I didn't see any men this time. One woman had a very loooooooooooong thin pointy nose. It reminded me of Pinocchio on a really naughty day. She must have been around 40 years old and she was very excited to be scheduling a nose job. I think she'll look beautiful once it's done and I admit I wondered why she waited so long. There's nothing wrong with bigger noses – they can add character to a face. Her nose, however, sort of reached to the other side of the room. It was hard to see her behind it.
In any case, the office staff at my doc's has adopted me. Everyone always wants to adopt me except for the people who hate me. There aren't many people who are just meh about me. I don't know why that is, but I guess I'm a love me or hate me type of personality.
The entire office staff wanted to talk to me and ask how I was feeling. They all knew I had a rough start with the anesthesia reaction. Everyone had lots of questions for me. I think they wanted me to strip off my shirt right there in the waiting area so they could check out my now smaller breasts.
You'd be proud of me, I kept my shirt on until I got in the examination room.
Is it just me? All I wanted to do was giggle the entire time the doctor talked to me. Why are boobs so funny?
Again, I was told initially to put on a hospital gown. I removed the gown when asked by my doctor. He looked momentarily astonished and then exclaimed, "Wow! They look great! They're amazing!"
It was all I could do not to burst into a fit of giggles. I mean, is a doctor supposed to say that? And about his own handiwork? Once again, I pondered how much of what he says is a doctor talking and how much is a man talking.
Can you imagine your gynecologist looking at your cooter and excitedly exclaiming, "It's amazing!?"
Next he began removing the surgical tape on my breasts. Most of the stitches will dissolve on their own, but a few will need to be removed in about another two weeks. Once the tape was off, I got my first really good look at my breasts.
I know that isn't very modest, but really? They are amazing!
I would never in a million years have done a reduction if it weren't insisted on by my shoulder doc, but I'm so glad now that I did. My ribs are still quite bruised, but my breasts themselves are spectacular.
I'll be more humble once I get used to them – right now my breasts are a total novelty. I'm completely amazed by my own boobs. They are so perky! It's almost as if they're in some sort of celebration. It's too bad I have to keep them squished flat in a sports bra for the next five weeks.
I made a comment to the doc about how I expected my nipples to drop onto the floor when he removed the tape. He then, once again, went on a rant about how my nipples were never moved, or removed, from my body. (This is not the case with most American reductions, by the way.)
And then …
Yes, and then …
He said, "Look how cute your nipples are!"
I must have turned forty shades of red. These are the same nipples I've always had. My nipples were not surgically altered.
He thinks they're "cute?"
Next, as I stood there mortified, doc cleaned me up. By that, I mean he took some type of solution and wiped down each breast. While he was cleaning my breasts, I let my eyes roam everywhere but in his general vicinity.
(Because he thinks I have cute nipples and, um, I was really embarrassed by him verbalizing that while they were in his hands!)
I'm sure this is all normal breast doctor stuff. It isn't like he was being unprofessional at all. I'm just not accustom to having near strangers handling my breasts and telling me I have cute nipples.
Come to think of it, the man has seen a lot of nipples, hasn't he? Maybe I should get over my embarrassment?
Naw … I don't think so.
After he cleansed each breast, he retaped the incisions with surgical tape. Luckily for me, most of the post surgery dressings are no longer needed.
There is one other thing though. (Honestly, I can't believe the things I share on the Internet.) Some women experience a decrease in nipple sensation after a reduction. I, however, seem to have developed the opposite problem. My nipples are hyper-sensitive now. I don't know if it will last, but in the meantime it could be a bit of a problem.
If my own arm accidentally brushes across my chest, my nipples are instantly at attention. The sensation seems to be on a direct trigger to my … girly parts. It's as if I have bionic nipples. God forbid, what if a total stranger brushes up against me in a crowd? I might not be able to control myself. (What if I became a public Moaner?)
Maybe that particular side effect will fade with time?
© Twenty Four At Heart