Ta-ta, Titties. 31, No Kids, 32F --> 32Dish - Gold Coast, AU

So my story begins much the same as all of yours,...

So my story begins much the same as all of yours, I suppose. Ginormous bazoongas from early adolescence, exploding buttons, nightmares at the swimming pool, unwelcome ogling and sleaze, the sweaty underboob, cheesewiring of the shoulders, neck aches, nicknames, crying with frustration in the bra shop changing room, giving myself a black eye whilst attempting to jog... you all know the struggle is real. About a year ago I decided life's too short for being uncomfortable and annoyed by my own body all the time and started seriously thinking about getting a reduction. I have a cousin and an auntie (from two different sides of the family - I've had a double-dose of DD-genetics) who've both had this procedure and they were both beyond delighted with the results. I also found this website, and I can honestly say that without this absolute goldmine of information I don't think I could have felt well-enough prepared to actually go through with it, so thank you all.

I began by visiting my GP and explaining my woes. She's just great. She was sympathetic and recommended me Dr Layt, whose patients she'd actually seen post-op. She said he produced good results and very neat scars. She wrote me a referral which lets me claim some of the costs back through medicare. I also scheduled a visit with Dr Scamp, another surgeon near me, whose website I'd found during google trawling.

I went to see Dr Scamp first. His office is dubbed a "Medi-Spa" and was extremely shiny with lots of polished marble and staffed by perfect beautiful doll-women. He was very professional and slick, and had a special machine that took 3D photos and then produced a computer mock-up of what my end results would look like. It was kind of like designing a Sims character. Seeing the photos, I realised for the first time how massively assymmetrical my breasts actually were. Righty was a solid amount bigger than lefty. I'd just been so used to seeing them in the mirror that I wasn't aware how lopsided they really were. Mindblowing.

The next day I had an appointment with Dr Layt. I got good vibes from him right away - he was friendly and chatty and made me feel at ease. He told me I was a good candidate and could be helped a lot by this operation. I decided to book in with him because he made me feel more comfortable, and he'd come recommended, and he'd also been the President of the Australian College of Plastic Surgeons, so he must be good. He was also expensive with a long waiting list, which I thought meant he had to be the tits, so to speak. I paid my $750 deposit before I could panic and back out.

It actually took me a whole year to get round to going ahead with the actual surgery. My insurance wouldn't cover it unless I switched to a more expensive plan, and even then I had to wait a year as per their policy of not immediately paying up for pre-existing conditions. That and various life commitments got in the way and I kept rescheduling, but eventually I set the date for 9th November.

I woke up yesterday on the morning of the surgery at just before 5am. My dad drove me to the hospital and I checked in - I was first on the list, scheduled for 7am. Now I should say that I work in the medical field, and for some reason, this has given me a galloping phobia of being an actual patient myself. Even a simple wait in the GP waiting room gives me palpitations, so the process of going into hospital for my first general anaesthetic had me sweating and gagging with fear and wrestling to hold the pen steady enough to fill in all the forms they needed. Ladies, please excuse my French when I say I was absolutely bloody shitting myself. I managed to calm my internal screaming somewhat by channelling the wisdom of Ned Stark counseling his young son on the nature of bravery: "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" "That is the only time a man can be brave."

The nurse called me in and I almost keeled over in my chair with abject terror. I went with her into a little room and changed into a giant pair of paper granny knickers, a paper gown and a paper shower hat. I looked ridiculous. The nurse commented on how astronomically high my blood pressure was. I managed to give a kind of dry croak in reply. Seriously, I am a terrible patient and feel sorry for anyone who had to deal with me that day.

I was put swiftly into a bed and wheeled into the anaesthetic room. The anaesthetist was really hot. Like, silver fox old man hot. He had the air of George Clooney from ER. "You seem a little nervous," he observed. Spot on, doc. I explained that I was normally on the other side of the medical transaction and was having a little trouble adjusting to my role as the patient. I was, at this stage, torturing myself with running a mental through all the things that can go wrong with routine procedures. Anaphylaxis, laryngospasm, massive haemorrhage, flesh-eating bacteria, accidentally getting my kidney removed instead of my tits. He was very understanding though and told me exactly which drugs and airway kit he was going to use and seemed extremely confident and competent, to my huge relief. Then he sent in the surgeon to draw on me.

The surgeon came in and fastidiously measured everything with a spirit level, a ruler, a tape measure, and a pair of calipers. He asked me whether I'd rather have smaller boobs or moderate-size but a better shape. We agreed to go for best shape over smaller size. He was going to shoot for a D cup. Then it was time to head into the theatre.

As I climbed onto the table, the highly slick team clattered around me organising things. I was in a state of pure animalistic mortal fear at this stage. I was absolutely losing my shit. The nurse took my blood pressure and found it hilariously high - 165/95 - they all had a bit of a laugh at me. In went the IV in my left arm and before I had time to wig out further, George Clooney gave me a wonderful cocktail of drugs that knocked me out instantly.

The next thing I knew I was waking up in recovery. Yet another lovely nurse was being sweet and kind to me as I struggled to wake up. The surgeon and the anaesthetist popped their heads in to say it all went well. As soon as I was awake the nurse sat me up and put on a delightful beige granny bra that I am to wear 24/7 for the next fortnight. I was wheeled into another room full of recliner chairs and spent the next few hours watching the horror of the US election results unfolding on the flat-screen TV. The nurses were so great - they kept making me cups of tea and bringing me pillows and blankets and were just really kind. One of them came and sat down with me and asked me how I felt because she is thinking of getting a reduction herself. I could tell her honestly that I had no pain, just grogginess from the anaesthetic. At one point I went to the bathroom and took off the compression bra to have a sneaky look. My jaw hit the floor the way my old boobs used to do. They were so god damn pert. I looked like I'd just had implants, not a reduction. Even with all the dressings and blood, I was completely thrilled with the results already.

Later that night the local anaesthetic nerve blocks wore off and hoo boy, then it started to hurt a bit. It was quite a long drive home and the seatbelt was a bit uncomfortable (bring a pillow). But I took some painkillers and really I felt pretty fine, all things considered. I slept like a baby all night and woke up the next morning feeling pretty good.

So I'm at the beginning of day 2 post-op now. I overdid it yesterday by driving myself to my postop appointment and then taking the dog for a celebratory walk on the beach. I felt alright at the time but today I am pretty sore, and it's definitely my fault for not taking it easy enough yesterday. Today I will be sedentary. I have a well-stocked fridge and am hooked into a netflix box set and will not repeat my mistakes. Enforced relaxing while high on painkillers is actually kind of enjoyable.

The appointment yesterday involved a nurse checking my dressings and leaving them in place, so I still haven't seen whether I've got nipples or not. The next appointment is in a week with the surgeon and hopefully I will get to see everything. I will keep you updated with photos and please feel free to ask me questions. Good luck all of you with your decisions, and again thank you to the RS community for helping me feel so informed.

Photos

Here are some photos for you all, a few before shots and a couple of ones from 24 hours post-op

Nipple panic

It's day 4 post-op today and I changed the dressings for the first time. The nurse had asked me to try to keep the dressings on for a week but one of them was a bit blood-soaked and festy so I took it down. I hadn't seen my nipples yet and had a quick panic attack when I saw righty - it was still bleeding and looked a worryingly dark purple. I began freaking out about my nipple losing its blood supply and falling off. Hyperventilating, I sent some photos to my surgeon and thankfully he got back to me straight away to reassure me that it was just bruising and everything looks normal. I told you I am a terrible, terrible patient.

Day 5

It's Sunday and I had the chop on Wednesday. Which, I think, makes today day 5. I am pleased to report that after yesterday's minor spaz attack I am back to feeling happy and confident and am no longer convinced I am going to live the rest of my life with nipple-less Barbie tits. The bruising on righty is pretty full-on, but then I anticipated this because I bruise like a peach normally anyway. Top tip for easy-bruisers like me: hirudoid cream, available over the counter at your local pharmacy, for the low low price of about $15 for a tiny tube, but it's cleared up bruises really quickly for me in the past. As soon as these dressings are off I will start slathering it on.

This morning I slept in til about 10am and, feeling ballsy, decided to go and meet my friend for coffee without a bra. Now normally this activity would have been horribly uncomfortable and probably got me cat-called and then arrested for frightening small children, but today I actually just looked like any normal woman with a normally proportioned body doing a normal activity like wearing normal clothes. What japes.

Here are some photos from this morning. Pain is pretty minimal now, I just feel a bit stiff and tight, and my incision lines are starting to itch like they're healing. Don't really need the gnarly painkillers any more but they are helping me to sleep well at night. Hope you all have a cracking weekend and I'll update next week with more pictures.

Day 7

One week down, one lifetime to go with my new pair of norks. I have a feeling we are going to get along very well indeed.

This past week has been surprisingly smooth sailing. After the weekend, I stopped needing to take strong painkillers and have been managing just fine with occasional paracetamol (aka Tylenol to you yanks). I'm in discomfort rather than pain, and the discomfort seems to be more from the tight surgical bra than from the actual surgery. Sleeping on my back has been a lot easier than I anticipated. It might be the weird sleeping position, it might be the codeine, but every night is a magical mystery adventure time of bizarre psychedelic dreams, like staggering through a Pink Floyd music video repeatedly.

Today I changed all the dressings on the underneath as well as my nipples. I know I was meant to leave them alone for a week but the dressings were just looking so gross and sodden with old blood I couldn't resist. I will probably get told off tomorrow at my follow-up appointment, but for the good of all of you, I managed to get some photos of what 1 week's healing looks like. Feast your eyes.

Almost 2 weeks post-op

Ello everyone. Day 13 today I think. Things are pretty much back to normal over here. Minimal to no pain at all. I went to see my surgeon last week and he was happy with everything and doesn't need to see me again. I'm using a silicone tape that is meant to be good for healing scars, and have been sleeping comfortably without the beige corset of pain for the past couple of nights.

Highlight of the week: I went to a lingerie shop the other day and bought myself a tiny little lacy thing with no underwiring in a size M. I was so overjoyed that it fitted me, I couldn't help oversharing with the woman running the shop about my recent surgery. By some divine synchronicity, she had also had a breast reduction herself some years ago, and could completely understand my shrieking overexcitement.

I'm back at work, coping fine, and everything is going generally smashingly well. I'm so so so so very glad indeed I did this, and in fact if I woke up tomorrow morning with my old F cups the very first thing I'd do is call up my surgeon and book in for another go.

THE ACTUAL BEST THING OF ALL TIME OH MY GOD.

3 weeks tomorrow fellow overgenerously chestily endowed sisters from another mister.

Can I just say that this has been the best money I've ever spent. I have got the boobs I always dreamed of. They just sit there, behaving themselves and looking perfectly normal, and generally do not make a nuisance of themselves one little bit these days. Gone are the days of them swinging around smashing into things like rambunctious toddlers dizzy on lemonade, attracting stares and tuts. Gone are the days of sweaty ginormousness. Gone are the shoulder dents. Gone are the kevlar-reinforced megabras that doubled as warm winter hats. I am free and I am so bloody chuffed with the results. Hats off to Dr Layt, the man's an artist. And by hats, yes I mean my old bras.
Brisbane Plastic Surgeon

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