How Do I Get Purple Permanent Marker Off?

Well, it's been five days since my surgery and I'm feeling pretty good. I have to say that the whole ordeal was less painful than I had anticipated.

I had planned this whole thing out meticulously, I had Googled and youtubed every breast reduction story I could get my grubby little hands on in order to know what to expect. On the evening prior to my surgery (on the nurses advice) I took a Tylenol PM to help me sleep. It not only worked like a charm, I overslept! I've never needed an alarm clock in my life, I always wake up early and if I don't wake up, my husband does. Wouldn't you know on this morning we were sawing logs together till 7:19....I was supposed to be there at 7:30. FUCK!

OK...so we both shot up, rubbed our eyes, mumbled some words and jumped in the car. I barely had time to think about anything--probably a blessing. I had already stocked the car with a barf-bag and a pillow to put on my chest so the seat-belt wouldn't rub me after surgery.

We pulled into the underground parking garage and raced up the elevator at about 7:35 (record time!) I filled out a sheet of paper in frustration because I didn't bring my purse and I am as blind as a bat without my reading glasses. A nurse named Lynn took me back and gave me a gown and some slipper-thingy's to put on my feet. She said I could leave on my socks and underpants. I gave her my sweat pants, my button-up sweat-shirt and a sports bra... (the ONLY possessions I had brought with me) she put them in a locker. She hooked me up to an IV and we were off and running.

The doctor came in and drew on my chest one last time with his purple permanent marking pen. As he drew I felt like he seemed nervous. I kept watching him, I mean, my life will be in this guys hands in a few minutes. Maybe I was imagining it.... my husband sat next to the doctor and looked on, like a deer in headlights. This surgery was never his wish, but he has been very supportive of me in this decision and has been by my side all the way through.

"So we're going to make you a C cup?" the doctor asked.
"Yes..." I had originally asked for a B cup but he advised against it. "that's what you recommended, right?"
"Yes, I think that's best."

To me, a C cup sounds like heaven--especially after lugging around E cup sized boulders strapped around my shoulders for way too many years. *cracks neck*


Once the doctor left, a rather nice looking guy entered my little curtained area. "I'm the Anesthesiologist. I'd like to ask you a few questions" ..... We chatted about allergies, nausea, motion sickness.... I told him that I had reacted badly to anesthesia in the past (over 20 years ago). He smiled like George Clooney and assured me that these days they can put stuff in the "cocktail" so I would not experience any nausea. Cool. He rocks.

The last thing I remember is being wheeled into the surgery room and I could see my reflection in the overhead lamp-thingy. I could feel the IV was starting to send in the good stuff because I was chillin'... *poof*

When I woke up the nurse was asking me some questions and helping me put on my bra followed by my shirt, pants and shoes. I got into an awaiting wheelchair and away we went. My chest was completely numb. She wheeled me to my car and put me in my seat, my husband was ready at the wheel. I didn't really need the pillow on my chest but I held it anyway as they secured my seatbelt. I surely didn't need the barf bag. Very cool. Did I mention that my Anesthesiologist rocks? Well, he does.

When we walked in the house I looked in the mirror, I turned to the side. I was so bandaged and bound up that it was hard to really see any shape, but I could tell I had gone way down in size. I just felt relieved that this whole ordeal that had consumed me for so long was finally over. I went to bed and slept for the rest of the day.

It's funny, but I haven't had the urge to peek until today. I wasn't in any hurry to see the raw cut up flesh and stitches. But today I peeled off the gauze and tape, and I really examined them....and one side is really pretty. Just like a tear-drop. The other side is her angry bloated sister who's not so happy. I'm hoping she will settle down and I will have a nice pair of twins. Time will tell. They are both still quite swollen and look ridiculously perky. Like two hard rocks. The good news is the nipples are pink and alive, that's one thing I had worried about. Nipple death. They are definitely limp and taking some time to adjust to their new location. I can't really feel them yet.

I'd have to say that it's all been well worth it. I'd do it again in a heart-beat. I had no illusions about what I would get. I had very large, uncomfortable, painfully heavy boobs. And now I have two average sized, perky, scarred boobs. Even if they are imperfect, it's better than what I had. But I certainly hope... cough--for the amount of money I paid--cough, well, they should look pretty damn good. The scars are really not a big deal to me. I can live with them, no problem! It's just such a relief to have those heavy things off of me.

Now the fun...... clothes! *does a twirl* I'm losing the bag-lady-frumpy-don't-look-at-me look I sported all last year.

Oh look out.

Tah Tah, Tah Tah's!

All I want for Christmas is a breast reduction.

Ever since I was about 10, my breasts just sort of had a mind of their own. I don't think I ever even wore a training bra. It's as if I just woke up one morning and BAM! They were huge!

I was teased mercilessly by the other kids. They called me "bra stuffer". I surely wasn't ready to give up my childhood just yet. But I was no longer that innocent girl that played softball and did cartwheels on the front lawn. I was completely self-conscience.

As a teen, I was bombarded with fashion magazines filled with skinny models with small breasts. I felt like a freak. I guess I maxed out at a D cup by the 8th grade. I was constantly dieting throughout high school to make them smaller, even though I was not really overweight. At 5'3" I varied in weight between 100 lbs and 110. I always wore my bra to bed and I wore a size smaller than I should have. I figured perhaps the smaller size bra would strangle them and keep them from getting any bigger.

Zip ahead to the year 2008..... and I'm now 52 years old. I wish I'd done this years ago, but I've decided now is the time. I'm now past the D cup....way past. I don't know what my exact size is because I refuse to buy a bra that big. Have you ever seen a triple D? It looks like you could fit a family of four in one cup. The underwires are insane! They cut into my ribcage and the straps leave grooves in my shoulders. So... I've been wearing an extra large sports bra. The kind you just pull over your head. My chest looks like I've got a loaf of bread stashed inside my shirt. The idea is to just smash them down.

Throughout most of my life I've always tried to stay in good shape. I've worked out and watched my diet. But lately my body image has really gone down the drain. There has been a lot of stress in my life recently, coupled with menopause symptoms and a bout of depression. I've packed on about 40 extra pounds in the past 2 years. I'm in desperate need of a make-over. I wear baggy shirts and baggy pants...I haven't been clothes shopping in ages. I find myself feeling invisible when I'm out and about. Perhaps because that's what I want. To be invisible.

Anyway.

About a month ago I was sitting in the doctors office with my mother who was having her annual heart check-up. I asked her cardiologist to recommend a local doctor for breast reduction surgery. I've just moved to the area and I felt the best referral might be another doctor. He gave me a name and I called and made an appointment.

I was so nervous when I arrived at the office for my first appointment. This doctor is supposed to be the best in town. Granted, I'm no longer living in Orange County, where the best of the best are everywhere. I am in the Central Valley where there are only a handful of well known plastic surgeons. The office was sparse and not very impressive. The building, old. The doctor, board certified and has been in practice for over 30 years.

When I entered the patient room the assistant asked me to remove my shirt and bra, I was given a little tissue paper shirt that opened in the front. She asked me a few questions and I tried to answer them as best I could. I was so incredibly nervous. She asked me what size bra I wore, I told her I wasn't sure anymore.

The doctor walked in and looked at my breasts. He took out a purple marker pen and started drawing lines showing me where the incisions would be. He then drew where my nipples would be, almost three inches above where the are now. I started to feel a little excited about having perky breasts. I don't think I've EVER been perky.

This whole renovation is going to cost just over $9,000.00. This includes follow-ups, anesthesiologist, the operating room, the whole shebang. This sounds a bit high given the fact that he doesn't take insurance. None of the well known surgeons around here do. What's up with that? This really is annoying to me. But I'm going forward with it anyway.

I nervously wrote out a check that made me want to choke as I signed it and handed it over. I am not rich by any means, that is a big chunk of money. But this surgery is well worth it to me, that is, I HOPE it will be.

*says a silent prayer*

My surgery is December 22, 2008.