I grew up in the 80s at a time when cosmetic surgery was really coming into its own. And I can still remember seeing these early efforts on the handful of face-lifted ladies at our church with stretched out, Bruce Jenner-esqued features as well as on the ridiculously pointy noses of younger WASPy girls from families with way too much money. And, even though the result was a little alien back then, I can still remember being oddly intrigued by the ability of these women to “correct” what they perceived as their shortcomings through modern medicine.
Girls talk about this kind of stuff. All girls. “If you could fix one part of your body with plastic surgery, what would you do?” Everyone has an answer to this question. My nose … my eyes … my stomach … my butt … and, the popular favorite … my boobs. Whatever. Never say never, right?
And now, having had two children, both of whom nursed like Dyson vacuum systems, my answer reverberates in my head – my breasts. They’ve never been huge. But, at one time, they were at least what I would have called “inflated” … as well as situated correctly on my chest. Pregnancy and nursing changes all of that. And I nursed hippie-style, racking up almost four cumulative years between my two kids. They say breast is best, right? No regrets there. But my boobs sure look like crap as a result of my valiant efforts.
So I started thinking about it. And checking myself out in front of the mirror, lifting things up to where they used to be. To where they’re supposed to be. And imagining. And daydreaming. Which I did. A lot. And then I started hearing about all of my girlfriends over the years who were taking the plunge. They all looked great. They were filling out their shirts again. And buying halters, off-the-shoulders and other little strapless numbers that I can only dream of filling out. So … what was stopping me?
Fear of the procedure itself? Guilt of spending the money? Embarrassment of my vanity? Well … yes, yes and yes! But it wouldn’t hurt just to look into it, right? Get some questions answered so I can make an informed decision. And maybe help a few curious others along the way. So, I’m starting the research now. But I’m still pretty freaked out. So I figured that going way public about the whole thing would help. And I started turning to a few friends.
The first two women I talked with seriously about it were two of my oldest friends. One has had augmentation and the other has two of the most naturally huge boobs I’ve ever seen in my life. I was having drinks with the first on one occasion and lunching with the second on another. Both conversations eventually turned to boobs (as they all do, right?) and both conversations ended up with me dragging my drinks/lunch date into the public bathroom, locking the door behind us and exposing my “girls.” (A pretty brave deed considering a popular area restaurant was recently cited for secretly installing web cameras in their women’s bathrooms. But I digress.)
Both of my friends were even more receptive to my talk of breast augmentation once they saw what I had to offer. Actually, they both said exactly the same thing … that I was precisely the kind of person for whom this surgery was intended.
I felt vindicated and humbled at the same time.
I buttoned up, left the bathroom and made my decision to begin looking into the whole thing. Both times. I think I’m as excited about the possibility of a change as I am about writing all about it. I’ll be augmenting two parts of me really. And there’s nothing I won’t discuss about it. Promise.