I am the boob girl


I am the boob girl.

I almost went with boob lady, but I like the ability to sing my version to the tune of ‘I am the Walrus.’ (For my pop culture-challenged friends, that’s an old Beatles song.)

Last night, I had a meeting at my kids’ school for the women’s half of the parents association. We’re a pretty tight-knit community. Everyone knows you … or at least everyone knows someone who knows you. And the fact that I was co-president of this organization last year with my dear friend, Ashley, pretty much prevents me from flying under the radar there at all anyway.

(Note: you’ll be meeting Ashley better next week as I’ve added her as an Appointment Buddy.  And she’s up for the Wednesday appointment.)

Anyway, this was the first big meeting of the school year. And, more importantly, the first one I wasn’t running (I know, Ashley … CO-running!)  in a while … which left me available to visit with other moms before and after the meeting a bit.  The topic of conversation initiated with me over and over again? Boobs, of course.

Specifically MY boobs.

I was a little surprised it (they) kept coming up as this was the circle in which I had chosen to lay low the most … assuming some of these women would think I was nuts. I’m friends with so many of the parents there … and the teachers … and the principal, for Pete’s sake! I wasn’t sure I wanted to unleash everything so close to home.

Worlds colliding, you know?

The funny thing is, that although I hadn’t directly contacted most of these ladies about the blog, many of them had already seen it. And read it.  And liked it.

I really do need to get over myself, don’t I?

Anyway, I spent the night jumping from circle to circle, talking about my boobs with the kind of enthusiasm that allows you to know the subject of my conversation from across the noisy room. (Hand gestures and repeat grabbings of your own boobs will always give you away, FYI.)

I even got the opportunity to see and feel another mom’s implants in the bathroom before the night was over.  Seriously, it was her idea and she pulled me into the ladies room.  I guess it seems only fair considering how many friends I’ve been flashing lately.  And, by the way, Kelly … they were spectacular! (Yes, of course, I have her permission to use her name.  Never mind the fact that I got it over drinks later that night!)

After the meeting ended … and I talked to no less than a dozen people about my boobs … we all went out for drinks and the discussions only deepened.  Again, I found myself surprised by the women (and men, apparently) who had been tuning in and were regularly keeping abreast (how many times can I use that one really?) with ODNT.   There were two women there I had never met before who have already taken the big plunge.  And these ladies were more than happy to have the opportunity to discuss ‘all things boob’ with everyone and learn even more with me during my research process.

The bottom line is I think I’ve created a bit of a new identity for myself … as ODNT or perhaps just Old Dog, which I can live with.  But, you know, it’s kind of nice having my own identity after all these years as my kids’ mom, the school’s president, my mother’s daughter or any of the other familial connections linked to me. (Wink.)  And, hey, my boobs actually scored me lunch today at one of my favorite local burrito joints.  (Thanks, Alyson, Robby and Izzo’s for a great meal!)

And these are still my ‘befores!’  Think … of the possibilities!

20120407-223706.jpg

The First Consultation Appointment – Pt. 2


So, we went into the examination room, still tasteful and completely boob-less in décor, and waited for the doctor.  My stupid phone rang again but, this time, I ignored it.  Not going to fall for that one again, iPhone.  I wanted to be mentally prepared for her when she came in.  So, I started trying to organize my thoughts.  Virginia wanted to throw her gum away and we joked about what she might see in the ‘Biohazard’ bin in the room with us.   She screwed up her courage, lifted the lid and tossed in her wad of gum.  Of course, we saw no used saline bags or spare nipples (sorry to my friend who can’t stand the sound of that word).  Too bad though.  That would’ve been a cool addition to this story, wouldn’t it?

It wasn’t long until the doctor came in.  She was very down to earth and Virginia and I both felt immediately at ease with her.  Score for the introductory appointment! The first thing she did was have the two of us switch places so I’d be across from her for the consultation.  I can’t imagine how she was able to determine so quickly that the patient was me and not my ‘gifted’ friend, Virginia. (Um, yes, I’m totally being sarcastic.  You don’t really know me that well yet so I thought I’d clue you in.)

The doctor interviewed me first.  I think that’s standard protocol, or at least it should be so they can get to know you and therefore know what best suits you boob-wise.  She listened to me explain that I was a 42-year-old mom of two who nursed nearly four years between the two of my children.  She laughed and said that, with most moms nursing an average of six months per child, it’s like I’ve nursed eight kids.  Damn.  Kate Gosselin I am not.  But maybe my boobs are.

And just as we were laughing and feeling very comfortable about the whole thing, she called for my top to come off. (My brain was racing. She had complimented it when she first came in.  Maybe she just wanted to try it on.  Geez … wake up, Michele!)  The moment of truth was here.  I think I actually looked at Virginia at that point and apologized. She offered to leave but I said no.  I’m supposed to be public here.  I mean … not webcam-for-the-blog public … but public in the sense that I wanted other opinions.  I wanted another set of ears hearing everything from the doctor.  Helping me remember everything. And digest everything, for that matter.

With me now topless, we started to get into the nitty gritty of it all.  She measured me to determine where my nipples fell (Again, sorry to my nipple-fearing friend.  You might just need to skip this chapter) and get the whole lay of the land, if you will.  The long and the short of it is that my breasts weren’t the worst things she’s ever seen.  And my nipples weren’t ridiculously low or anything like that. We then proceeded to discuss a worst case scenario or two that made me feel a little better about myself.

So, after seeing my ‘presentation’ and getting to know me a bit, she said she would recommend a lift for me personally.  She explained that, by grabbing everything that had spread out (and down) over the years and clustering it up back together in a higher place on my chest, I was likely to get exactly what I was looking for in boob-wear. My nipples would also be moved up and slightly reduced in size. (FYI to nursing mothers, this procedure does not impede your ability to breastfeed in the future. No nerves or anything else are cut here.) My breasts, now higher and more compact, would in fact appear larger.  She added that, if at a later date I decided I wanted a more substantial size, I could always go back there and slip a pair of implants into the higher, fully healed breasts.

I cannot stress enough how much she encouraged having these two procedures (the lift and the implants) done separately for the sake of healing and minimal scarring. She explained that the incisions made from the lift (described as anchor scars) would be nominal if you don’t overfill the breast at the same time with an implant.  They would only serve to push out against the healing incisions and thus create a more visible scar. And I saw several before and after pictures testifying to this fact.  She further added, as it’s the first place many of us go in our minds, that her costs for doing the two surgeries individually or together are nearly the exact same (as she gives discounts to repeat clients) … but she said many of her patients are so satisfied with the lift that they don’t always return for the additional implant surgery.

We talked a little about implants as well and she said she preferred saline to silicone. I mentioned that I’ve heard silicone seems to be coming back into vogue now but, after so many years of being removed from the market due links to cancer and other health issues, I had no interest in being a guinea pig for the new and improved version. Especially since they’ve only been made available again as an option for the last few years. She agreed.

She also said the exact same thing that I have heard from woman after woman with whom I’ve spoken about this project.

“Don’t go too big!

She said that, particularly on a smaller person like myself, oversized breasts will actually create a look of added weight overall on a woman’s frame.  Yeah, not really what I’m looking for here at all. I already enjoy cheese enough that I don’t need my boobs helping to make me look fat.

So, armed with more knowledge than I knew what to do with … and scared shitless that I needed to go through this process three or four more times …. I left the office with Virginia.  But not before telling the doctor about my online journal.  She loved the idea and its name and encouraged me to come back to visit again if I had more questions or needed explanations about anything.  I’m a big fan of this doctor so far. Of course, I’m not sure what I’m going to decide in the end … but she was a very good place to begin.

My next consultation appointment is Tuesday, September 20.  And I feel like I need to start getting organized already!

20120407-223706.jpg

The First Consultation Appointment – Pt. 1


So, I’m lying in my bed in the dark last night trying to fall asleep … amidst nervous pangs of anxiety and a bit of a stomach ache … and Seinfeld is on in the background. The show ran nine seasons and produced nearly two hundred episodes in total, but (of course!) the one that’s airing is ‘The Implant.’ If you’ve seen the show even once, you know what I’m talking about. Teri Hatcher guest stars as Jerry’s love interest, and Elaine questions the authenticity of her two best assets.  The whole episode then goes on to debate the difference in look (and feel) of real versus fake and the average person’s ability to spot the difference.  Great.  Just what I need to be listening to as I doze off, right?  Anyway, I did finally get to sleep last night … despite the cat’s constant efforts to keep me awake.

This morning was a fairly normal one, waking up the kids and getting them dressed, fed and out the door to school … stopping only once for a quick toilet-side goldfish funeral for my daughter’s 11-month-old pet.  So, I could now focus on my first big appointment this morning.  And I made sure to wear a shirt and pants today as I knew I’d be topless for an audience in less than an hour.  Commence the palm sweats.

True to my usual form, I ran a little late this morning and still needed to run around the corner to pick up my friend and boob supporter (which I guess sort of makes her a human bra) on the way to the doctor’s office.  I’m late, but she’s not (Thanks, V), so she jumps in the car, coffee in hand, and begins thumbing through the People Magazine on the floor of my car.  Unfortunately, she doesn’t realize that I’ve already got secretarial duties planned for her, and I quickly make a call to schedule my next appointment.  (I’m still deathly afraid some of these docs are going to tell me there’s a three, six or even twelve-month wait for an appointment.)  But I luck out, and my next appointment, with recommended doctor number two, is now scheduled for this coming Tuesday.  (Titillating Tuesdays for me from week to week, I suppose.)

We race there only to learn that my reliable iPhone GPS really should’ve given me a different route, so we’re set back a few more minutes and are now wrestling with an old man driver to get into the damned parking garage.

 MeI can totally get around him.

VirginiaI think you should just take the next turn.

MeWHY IS HE JUST $#@&% SITTING THERE?!!?  (pause) I think I can intimidate him into moving.

VirginiaBe nice.  Take the next turn.

MeFine.

VirginiaLet’s call the office while we’re looking for a parking spot.  Tell them we’re running a little late because we left one of your boobs at home.

MeSee.  I told you you could be funny.

The office is nice when we call and seems to understand the crowded garage. Alas, my phone rings as we’re running in, and I notice it’s one of the other doctors I’ve called repeatedly to make an appointment.  Hating to miss the call, I grab it … thinking it’ll only take a minute.

 Wrong.

 These people want to know everything about me.  Seriously, I think I gave them my Confirmation name.  Again, unfortunately for Virginia, this phone call leaves my hardworking friend responsible for checking me in to the current appointment and literally beginning the completion of my paperwork. She did a damned good job if you ask me, leaving blanks only in areas like my social security number.

 I finally finish up my phone interrogation and take over the pen and paper from my amazingly-composed friend.  We laugh about the “Do you drink alcohol at all?” question.  Then, she adds her two cents about the one asking “Have you seen a psychiatrist or therapist in the last two years?”  Fine, fine. And then, I have to sign the Photograph Consent Form. Ugh.  I’ve seen these headless wretches a few hundred times during the last few months and no one … I mean NO ONE, not even the best pair of boobs … looks good in these photos.  Yes, they’re headless … and therefore anonymous.  Still, I’ll know. Bleeeeech.

 Once we finished the paperwork, we were finally able to settle down in our seats and take in our surroundings.  And you know how when you go to a podiatrist, there are feet and foot-related products everywhere?  Same for ENT with big plastic ears, noses and throats or at least pictures of them all over the place.  Well, like a dumb ass, I half-expected to see boob diagrams on the walls, perhaps a large plastic resin cross-section of a boob illustrating the implant process, maybe even a big boob-shaped chair for patients in the waiting room.  Alright, I’m getting a little carried away with that last one.  Anyway, there was nothing.  I could’ve been at the breast doctor’s office or a law firm.  It was a tasteful space that gave nothing cosmetic away except for the small cabinet of skin products we spied in one end of the room.

 Only one other woman came in while we were there.  And I don’t think she was a patient.  Or maybe she was a ‘before’ like me. Let’s hope.  (Sorry, but it’s true!)  We waited a little longer, shooting the bull about boobs and talking about whatever (or whomever!) else we could think of to discuss … until I heard them call my name …

Part two of this momentous experience will be shared tomorrow … when my head stops spinning!

20120407-223706.jpg

Telling my family and friends


Okay. So, I decided I wanted to look into a boob job. And I wanted to go public about it.  But, before I could truly go public, I needed to run it by my family.  And maybe a few close friends. Just to see the looks in their eyes when I tell them about my plans.

Here’s how it went …

Husband … There were various comments, among them …  “You know, you could write about things like our fig tree in the backyard.”  AND  “Have you told your Dad yet?”  AND  “Umm … sure.  Maybe when you earn enough money from your writing jobs.”  For the record, I think he’s good with it now.  Or at least “good” with it.  Elective surgery. General anesthesia.  These are things that make him squirm. He cares … or maybe just doesn’t want to be a single dad … but, either way, that’s a good thing, right?

Mother … I told her on vacation. It was an odd choice but the opportunity suddenly presented itself. And I was expecting all kinds of motherly worry and maybe even a little judgment. What I got was “I can’t believe you waited this long.” After we got through our spontaneous eruption of laughter, she mentioned that, as my mother, she’s seen my boobs … in all their post-baby glory … and understands my decision completely.  (Love you, mom!)  Her concern was more about my going public about it. “Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.  I figure … you can’t hide this kind of change anyway … so why not stop all the gossip and rumors and put it all out there. If you want to talk about my boob job, I want to be in the circle.

Brother … He was all in.  He works in medical equipment sales and has seen all kinds of advancements in this area and has a great many doctor connections in the city. Score!  And, in his infinitely asinine way of trying to rib me and make me feel awkward (it’s a sibling thing), he started texting me soft porn and suggesting different ‘sets’ I might want to look into buying. It’s a pretty hilarious thing to open up unexpectedly on my phone, especially when I have to explain it’s from my brother.

Father … He was my albatross.  My husband, mother and brother all thought so and had convinced me as such.  So, I worked up my nerve and invited him to lunch.  Unfortunately, I had no childcare that day so I needed to select my eatery carefully so that my kids could sit separately from us without it raising any eyebrows.  (We went with a ‘roll your own burrito’ joint if that detail is significant to anyone.)  My dad and I sat at our own table right next to the elevated bar table where my kids sat, which was pointed directly at the wall-mounted television.  Problem solved.  And, after a bit of idle chit chat, I finally told him I invited him to lunch with an ulterior motive and lowered the boom.  And he didn’t flinch, progressive man that he is. (My mother is now officially rolling her eyes.)  He asked a few questions about whether or not the implant would be placed above or beneath the muscle and about saline in general.  He was actually approaching the whole thing from a scientific point of view.  Why am I surprised?  The Discovery Channel is like religion to him.

Friends (just a handful!) … Of course, I checked in with several other people in my life including my lady doctor (who also happens to be a neighbor and friend) and got a resounding “Good for you!”  And weighing in with half a dozen other friends earned me a few quizzical looks here and there and, of course, offered several more occasions to expose my boobs.  (Really, it’s been like Mardi Gras around here.)  But, in the end, no one tried to talk me out of it.  Some were surprised and some not.  Some still have questions for which I’ll be seeking answers and covering in future installments.  All were excited to be part of the process from the beginning.  And the one word that several of them used to describe what I’m doing was “brave.”

It’s funny, you know.  I wasn’t the least bit nervous about any of this business until someone characterized it as brave.

Damn girlfriends.

20120407-223706.jpg

The first appointment is scheduled! (Silent scream)


Okay, so how long can I write about National Boob Holidays, 83-year-olds getting implants and Katy Perry, right? Well, yes, I’ve been vamping and waiting a little … due to nerves and little scheduling obstacles (who I refer to casually as my kids) … to act on everything. Then, yesterday, I had a spare moment of clarity … as in no one needing Latin help, a litter box changed, new tap shoes or a clean flag football jersey … so I jumped on it.

I called the first doctor recommended to me, half expecting her office to say they couldn’t see me until late January or something. So, you can just imagine my surprise when the receptionist booked me for this Tuesday (THIS TUESDAY!) at 9:30am. I think I just tasted my breakfast a second time today.

But … it’s only a consultation. (It’s only a consultation. It’s only a consultation. It’s only a consultation.) And, even more, it’s only four miles from my front door … and it’s free. I can’t think of an easier way to slink into the meat of this whole project. So then, WHY am I sweating?

I am not going alone. So far, I have three wonderful friends (Vanessa, Melissa and Virginia)  who have offered to come with me to these initial … and I’m guessing pretty humbling … appointments. (I’m sure my mom will figure into this equation at some point, too.) I approached these three girlfriends about this first appointment and heard from Vanessa first.

Me – You’re probably going to have to see me naked from the waist up. I’m so sorry.

Vanessa – That’s okay. I’ll just take my top off, too.

Me – You’re a good friend.

Vanessa – Wait. Just got a text. I have a hair appointment Tuesday morning so I might have to leave early if I come.

Me – That’s fine. Let me call Melissa or Virginia.

Vanessa – I still want to get that coffee we keep talking about.

Me – Sure. This week.

Vanessa – Maybe when we go for coffee, I can take my top off there and score us a couple of free lattes!

Me – You’d do that for me?

Vanessa – I think I need to go put some self-tanner on.

So, looks like Vanessa won’t be making it this time. Not to worry. All of my friends are hilarious. It’s why I keep them around really. Each is funnier than the last.

Virginia’s coming along for the ride this time. And she’s already mentioned going for an early lunch after the appointment. The consultation is supposed to last only 45 minutes “unless,” the receptionist adds, “you have more questions that need answering.”

These poor people have NO idea.

So send me your ideas for questions … please!

What should I be asking? What questions would YOU want answered?

20120407-223706.jpg

Katy Perry and her troublemaking boobs


Okay, so just yesterday, I wrote that I don’t think about boobs every day … and then I went to a Katy Perry concert last night.  Try NOT to think about boobs at a concert where the megastar kicks off the show wearing a Candyland-inspired dress complete with spinning peppermint boob décor.   A google search for a picture of the minty dress revealed that her boobs have apparently been a hot topic in the news over the years.  Among the humorous results:

 — Katy Perry ET Big Boobs Bouncing Live Performance Firework Divas

— Katy Perry shows her breasts – You Tube

— Katy Perry’s Boobs – Exposed! Katy Perry’s Exclusive – You Tube

— Jessi J: Katy Perry’s boobs are amazing

— Flavorwire – The Top Ten Katy Perry Boob Moments

— Katy Perry and Her Boobs were on SNL Last Night

— Katy Perry’s Mom Hates Her Breasts

and …. my hands-down favorite …

— Katy Perry’s Breasts Get ‘Sesame Street’ Ban

 The VERY BENIGN video is below.  Fairly prudish, if you ask me.

20120407-223706.jpg

Q&A: Do you think about boobs every day?


Um, no.  What am I … a guy?!!?

Go, Saints!!!

20120407-223706.jpg

Sad news from an old friend today


When I first created this blog, I knew I’d be hearing positive stories from some of my friends about their similar experiences and sharing them here. Unfortunately, I hadn’t so much counted on hearing some of the sadder ones as well. Today, I learned of a woman (an old friend’s mother) who died as a result of an infection that came about after breast reconstruction surgery using implants. Granted, she was a cancer patient with a compromised immune system. But still …

20120407-223706.jpg

Doctor recommendations … or otherwise?


I cannot believe that I’ve literally obligated myself to making (and keeping!) doctor’s appointments. Of my own volition. They are easily one of my LEAST favorite things in the world.

(Insert your favorite ‘explevatory’ word here.)

I may as well have promised to pack everyone’s suitcases, balance all of your checkbooks and eat my weight in coconut. For a year. (These are all things that I HATE … in case that wasn’t perfectly clear.) But I think I need to get over myself and move forward.

Umm, right?

So, I’ve been given a few name recommendations already but … I’m wondering … are there any more? Does anyone want to recommend a doctor? Or strongly NOT recommend one? If you have any thoughts on the subject, please message me or comment here … so others can add their two cents.

I live in New Orleans and have no intention of traveling too far for these interviewing sessions. I’m pretty nervous about even making these appointments so I certainly don’t need lengthy commutes serving as a further obstacle in addition to what I’ve identified as either my crippling fears or remarkably debilitating laziness.

It’s JUST INTERVIEWS at this point anyway, right?

And I’ll have a wonderful girlfriend by my side every time.

(Gulp.)

20120407-223706.jpg

Convincing Myself


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. 🙂

20120407-223706.jpg