49yo Athletic Mother of Two in LA - It's Time to Explant These 17yo Implants!

The mantra “Real Women Have Curves” is meant to be an inclusive stretching of the conventional spectrum of “acceptable beauty.” And rightfully so. Most women have curves in varying degrees of curviness, including me. But what if a conviction in one particular -- this particular – mantra, which is meant to unhinge the conventional box of beauty, simply creates another box for us to fit in?

From the moment my body busted into womanhood, I had curves; curves on an athlete’s body, which I’ve been my entire life. Unlike so many girls and women I knew, I did not feel much shame when it came to my body. I loved being an hour-glass athlete. I loved being a quirky thinker with curves. I did not feel contained by any conventions. I was breaking the molds, wasn’t I? But I’m almost 50 now and I’m realizing that while championing this particular female aesthetic – even though I do feel it's more inclusive of more women -- I didn’t bank on how I would feel when my curves started to straighten and droop and deflate. What if I had two daughters so powerful that they breastfed the volume right out of me? And shriveled half of my coveted curves to resemble dried fruit when I was only 31? No one told me about this! They just let me chant on about this real-curve business, not warning me about breastfeeding and varying degrees of fat loss and collagen loss and freaking age and other destroyers of curves. I was shocked, honestly, and for the first time in my life I became self conscious. After my second daughter, I wore a bra 23 hours and 35 minutes a day. When I took off my bra before showering, I’d look in the mirror and raise my arms over my head to stare at what looked liked thin, draped curtains over a valance. What the heck? I was young still and vibrant and sexual. Why had my breasts abandoned our perfect ship?

Eight months after my second daughter was born, I got a breast augmentation. I wanted what I had before. I think about how burned into my mind it was that a curvy look was the ultimate desire. I had put so much emphasis on how the confidence in my body brought me power, I lost sight of where real power comes from. At the time, however, I felt so fortunate that I didn’t have the same insecurities as most of my friends that I convinced myself that my body shape meant more than it did. But even if my body confidence was a bit misguided, how I felt shouldn’t be an anomaly. Every woman has the right to feel organically good in her own skin because this is simply the truth. More true is that our bodies and our looks are a fraction of our equation. Confidence in our bodies should just be, and our power is not reliant on one piece of the beautiful, complex puzzle. But alas, women’s bodies are talked and written about SO MUCH: how it should look, not look, how better looks help us feel more attractive (when we just are), tricks and detoxes and blah blah blah. No matter our shape, we’re made to feel that how we look is equivalent to our character and that it determines our worth. We know – even if it’s really bury deep down – that this is not true. We’re just constantly told otherwise. It’s hard to fight. Whether we’re thin, lean, fit, curvy, have some weight on us, hardly weigh anything – someone somewhere is telling us it’s not good enough. The least confident of us try to change to fit into a made-up mold. The more confident of us come up with new mantras about our own bodies that seem to empower us, until the mantra no longer fits how we look and we realize: it’s still only about looks.

Anyway, at 32, after I knew I didn’t want more children, the idea of getting a BA wasn’t a matter of if, but when. My curves must be maintained, I thought. Real women had them – even with fake boobs. My husband told me he didn’t care. He told me -- tells me still -- that he thinks I’m gorgeous and sexy in infinite ways. I was like, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, but my boobs . . . “ He shrugged and said, “Your body, your decision.”

I was a full C before my kids were born. After, they deflated to a B. After augmentation – even though I told the doctor I wanted to be what I was before -- I was a D/DD. They were bigger than I wanted but not so off as to be completely unhappy. But I found myself self conscious again. With the post-baby boobs I was self conscious naked. With post BA boobs, I was self conscious in clothing. The balance of my curves felt skewed. I am upset that I spent so much energy thinking about how to dress to minimize my DDs. I wear vice-like bras, often two, and cleavage-control shirts. Often my breasts feel over-the-top sexualized unless I contain them into submission. They feel matronly and aging on other days.

After 17 years of having implants, I believe it’s time to take them out. I have had no complications that I know of, thankfully. But I want to be proactive before the expiration date on these things takes a turn for the worst. Mainly, it’s time. Next year I turn 50, and because I am still very athletic my body fat has naturally gone down. The beautiful butt of my youth has lost volume, too, (what are you gonna do?) and these big, fake boobs are feeling extremely heavy, like they don't belong to me anymore. Maybe they never did. I think it’s also time to find a new mantra now that I’m wiser and older, one that that will resonate with the women here, with women around me, with my daughters and myself especially. Something like: my character is golden, my mind sharp, my body strong and able – the whole package is beautiful without labels or apologies.

I have a consultation on Tuesday, Oct 4.

I really would like to thank all of you who have shared on this site. Every word and photo regarding your own explants have spoken directly into my own personal realization. Your stories have given me courage to pursue this, which I have thought about for years. Sincerely, thank you.

Stats: age: 49, 5'7" 137lbs.
Round saline under the muscle, I think 375ccs one side and 400cc the other? 17years ago, no complications or notable health issues from implants.

My consultation yesterday with Dr. Eugene Kim went as well as I had hoped. I felt comfortable and heard. He understood what I wanted and didn’t inject his own personal opinion into my vision. He listened and gave me a couple solid options. He says I don’t need a lift, but if I’m worried about excess skin and wrinkling, we could consider a little reduction, which would leave the same scars as a lift. The other option is a simple explant with local anesthesia. “You'd just yank them out?” I asked as I gestured my pinched fingers down roughly. He laughed and said, “We have more medical terms, but basically.”

The thought of sauntering into his office as if I’m going to make a bank deposit and then 20 minutes later leaving without implants, not groggy, minimal pain or scarring made me feel like I was about to get a really good Christmas bonus. The thought of having rather sad boobs afterward seemed a distant, second thought in comparison to this excitement. Plus, I’ve seen your “explant without lifts” photos here on RealSelf and many of you look perfectly good, better even than with implants. I feel I should be mourning the pending loss of these boobs more. Or that I should be more worried about how I'll look without them, but mostly I'm just excited. Also, I’m not the same woman I was 17 years ago – the one who judged my deflated breasts so harshly. My breasts will most likely be perfectly good, too. Or they will be after a few months.

Don't get me wrong: I do experience pangs of vanity so I discussed the options with my husband. And with my daughters who are 21 and 17. They were perfectly supportive with their “whatever-you-wants.” My youngest, however, was more adamant that I do the more simple procedure. “I don’t want you going under general anesthesia,” she said. And that spoke to me. That weighed more on me than "it's your body/I'm happy if you're happy." I appreciated her concern; it resonated with my own. I said, “Yea, I think I’ll just get them yanked.” And I tugged at the air with my pinched fingers, and we laughed.

I booked the simple explant under local for Oct 26th, exactly 3 weeks from today. I could feel a giddiness building as I read my credit card number to the receptionist. I can’t stop smiling at the thought the freedom, like I'm escaping a long codependent relationship. I can't wait to purge these foreign objects from inside of me that often reduced ME to merely an object. I’m ready. I’m so ready.

The faster the day approaches , the more I get excited. I love that almost every update on here states that they feel lighter and more free after. It's exactly what my doctor said I would feel. I'm really looking forward to that. The more I see how explants without lifts heal after a month or so, the more encouraged I feel about my own decision. I can't wait for a natural look and a natural feel. I'm so ready to get these huge weights off my chest.

When I booked my procedure, the nurse asked me if I wanted Valium beforehand since I'm only going under local. My quick reaction was to say no, but now I'm wondering if it would be better to have it. It sounds like nobody has felt pain under local, but that it's just strange. Has anybody done a local procedure without Valium first?