Good Bye Busty Lady

Good bye busty lady.

I have no more boobies. Well, boobies, yes, but big ones, no. Yesterday I had a bilateral implant removal.

I know, this is very personal matter for a casual blog post, but I’m finding the courage to share it none the less, for a few reasons….

1. body image issues are always relevant amongst us women
2. we always talk about fake boobies going in, but rarely going out
3. I’m on pain killers and everything seems important to share with you, from my relationship to Jesus, to the the way giraffes look while running, to the skinny-brow jail bate I played up when I was in high school, to the little known fact that a duck’s quack doesn’t echo and no one knows why.

Thursday I woke up full 34D. Today, I have no clue, but I’m pretty sure I’m flat as a butter knife, with just a dollop of butter on it. I got layers of ace bandage and gauze wrapped around my chest and I’m sitting in bed reminiscing about the crazy girl I was 10 years when I thought I was old enough and wise enough to make a good decision about plastic surgery.
It all happened so fast. Tuesday I got a call, Wednesday I talked to the doctor, and Thursday at 7:48am I was in the operating room.

Okay, back to light- hearted boob stuff and a photo that will make you laugh…

Here’s an infamous pic from Grad school, to give you an idea of what we were dealing with:

A bit like a goofy cartoon character, no?

And here is an innocent pic from around the time I was 14 or so to give you an idea of what I am most likely returning to once these bandages get removed:

Truthfully, I’ve been wanting my breast implants out for awhile. But I didn’t have the money or the courage to do it. I’ll always love Marilyn Monroe and Pin-Up models from the 40s and a full-figured woman, but having a large chest has had its fair share of drawbacks. Despite their allure,  fake boobies loose their luster just as the real ones do.

Baywatch is the number one sitcom in all the world because human beings like looking at boobs– Young, bouncy ones.
But when you are the owner of the bouncy, bubbly boobies, it’s not all fun and beach volleyball.  (Having a great rack is no help when trying to perform any physical task harder than wrestling a toddler, and it serves you no good trying to come off as non-threatening as possible to the married men and women at your church) .

And then there is nursing. Nursing is one of the most incredible bonding experiences a mother can share with her child, but it doesn’t come without a cost.  Nope, they are never the same, there is just not that much elastic built into the human body.

Before my bosoms became food and life for my child, they gave me an experience of the world that toughened me up.

Having breasts of a certain firmness, size and lift, even if they are the saline or silicone variety, you get used to being stereotyped as a floozy and looked at only from the collar bone down. You learn how to ignore this kind of judgment even whilst defending your thesis paper in grad school,  or walking into a child birth class, ringless and 7 months pregnant. You also learn how to avoid that kind of attention all together, if you want to, by dying your hair a mousey brown and wearing lots of hoodies.

The thing is, about 5 years past the augmentation date, you finally re-learn how to make your life more than about your bra size. You don’t even remember you have breast implants anymore, they are just….you.

Until the day you wake up and feel one of your breasts and you notice that something is definitely not right, something is really not right.  And so you go to see the Doc and he advises you that it’s time to say goodbye to being Boobsie Le Rue.

Why did I get breast implants to begin with?
Simple, I liked big boobs. And, I wanted them, even though my boyfriend at the time didn’t approve. He was an environmentalist and although we shared a love for animists poetry and the idea of “oneness,” he didn’t get my desire for a fuller bustline. I did it against his will and although I had many fun years playing barbie, I later wished I had listened to him. (Never fix what ain’t broke to begin with).

But no, I don’t regret getting implants.  (I think regretting anything in your life is just a waste of time and makes you prone to self-pity instead of open to new beginnings).

In the beginning of my implant era, I spent a good deal of time living “them” up. In my early twenties, they were like a fun costume. I dressed up as every kind of sex kitten, naughty nurse, french maid, Barbarella and bimbo you can imagine–And you should have seen what I wore on Halloween! One costume involved mylar and duck-tape and that’s it.

I was 19 when I got my breast implants and I vaguely remember them saying something about, “You know, these aren’t permanent. You’ll mostly likely have to get them removed or redone in 10 years or so.”
If I heard them correctly, I thought, 10 years was nothing I was going to have to worry about for a looooong time. Ten years was light years away. In 10 years I’d practically be thirty (never going to happen). Ten years was almost the same amount of time of elementary school plus high-school combined! In ten years I would probably be married, have kids and be so old and wise and unsuperficial that the look or size my breast would probably never cross my mind.

huh!
10 years happens fast and yes, I do have a child and even a husband on the way, but no, I am not so old or vanity free as to not care about my breast anymore.

As I lie here and feel them ache and curse me for all I’ve put them through, I care about them deeply.

What’s Next?

I don’t where I go from here. I’m half scared and half elated.  My body image has been wrapped up in being busty-boobsie for 10 years, but now it’s back to  Saline-Free “me.” One thing I know for sure is I”ll be doing a lot more downward dogs and running with this new body.

Also…I’m so excited to be able to hug my Man from Kentucky and my Lucca much closer and tighter than I ever have before, and I can’t wait to wear a string bikini without feeling like I just walked off the cover of  a dirty hot-rod magazine.

Much more to say, but for now, I must take another pain pill and sleeeep. Stay with me…be back after the next round of meds kick in.

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