Tag Archives: boob job

Help! Baby Needs a New Pair of Boobs!


You guys, I’m a finalist!

My pals at Britely just selected my Brite book entitled Kids Today are Soft – and Here’s Why as one of the five finalists eligible to win $1000 this week. Dave says I’m on my way to earning a boob job. If I win this contest and add it to the winnings from a few weeks ago for my Back to School ABCs flip book, then I’ve earned about 25% of the money.

Together, We Could Earn One Half of One Boob! 

Of a better campaign slogan, I cannot think. Maybe I should lend it out to the dudes in Washington this fall. Anyway … if you have three minutes today, please click the image below and travel back to your sad youth with me. And, if you LIKE it and (best of all!) SHARE it for me … well, now you guys are going to make me cry.

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Oh, yeah. And don’t forget. I promised on Twitter that I would COOK and EAT SPAM on camera if I won. So, there’s that, too. Tell your friends!

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The Third Consultation – with a third (and entirely new) option


Remind me never to schedule my breast consultations two days in a row again.

(I wonder if anyone’s ever uttered those fourteen words in that order before.)

It’s really too much breast manipulation, medical jargon and complicated reporting for me (and my shrinking brain) to tolerate in such a short time frame. So, I want to write everything down as quickly as I can before it disappears into a black hole somewhere in my mind after I sort through the junk mail, curse out a telemarketer or something.

Today started off just fine. A nice change from the last two days. After I got everyone out the door and threw myself together in yet another two-piece ensemble (never realized how many dresses I had until they were off limits), Ashley was already outside in the car waiting for me. Again, I would be prompt today since I was not the one driving. We dropped her youngest off at his little school and headed out to meet doctor number three.

We found the office quickly and got to work on my third set of paperwork. I’m always amused at the subtle differences in the forms from office to office. These forms asked me if I was on Facebook.(He better not be planning to tag any damned pictures of me.) I said yes and assumed that maybe I would just be recruited for a fan page of his work somewhere. But who knows?

The waiting room was a nice one, very contemporary in design. And there were abstract paintings here and there of the female form. Seems appropriate, yes? The plasma wall-mount TV was there purely for the purpose of running a tape loop of their best breast augmentation products. My dentist does the same thing. Well, his tape loop emphasizes teeth, of course.

Ashley and I passed the time by flipping through his before and after book. Impressive, as most have been. It didn’t hurt that he seemed to have a lot of particularly gross patients with which to work. (They’re all headless, so I can say whatever I want here!) There was a lot of particularly saggy skin not to mention a whole array of nipple piercings and tattoos (some with their own piercings worked into the design) to help us arrive at our clinical assessment of “gross.”

It wasn’t long before the nurse came out and called my name. She escorted us into the first examination room and seemed surprised that I had a buddy with me. She said she often serves in that role. Do other women usually go by themselves??? (Thanks, Ashley, for coming today.) I took off my shirt and threw on the robe without really even thinking about it, getting infinitely more comfortable with my toplessness lately. (Yeah, that’s probably not a good thing.)

The doctor came in pretty quickly and asked a few questions. I think I had the robe off within two minutes of his arrival. I couldn’t help but notice that his examination included not only my breasts but also my stomach. Immediately, he was able to offer his recommendations to me in a choice of two options:

(A) I could get a lift (the same full lift described at the first doctor appointment) in one surgery and then have implants inserted in a second surgery. Like my first doctor, he strongly urged that these two procedures be performed separately … but for a different reason than the first doctor. He said that, during the combination surgery that includes both procedures, 90% of the blood flow is cut off from the nipple and therefore there is a chance that (look away to the faint of heart) the nipple could die. So, two procedures it is, then. Moving right along …

Or

(B) I could get the same lift and use a grafting technique that injects fat from another area of the body into the breasts to increase their overall mass. He said not everyone is eligible for this procedure and again asked to see my stomach. (Now I get it!) Oh, and yes, I have enough spare fat to move it upstairs. Yay?

I kind of like this new B option.

The upsides? My stomach would be a little smaller and apparently “contoured” following the surgery. Bonus! And there would be no foreign objects in my body.

The downside? It costs more than the lift/implants combo as it involves more actual surgery. The incisions for what I’m going to call the FRP (Fat Relocation Program) are very small and hidden in the bikini area. After time, they and the anchor incision are expected to be barely visible.

And Ashley did point out one significant fact to my now-swimming brain. Yes, option B (the lift/FRP combo) would cost more than option A (the lift/implants combo) … but … there would be no maintenance. With the lift/FRP combo, I would never have to worry about replacements, leaks, explosions or any other ‘natural’ disasters that could ever befall an implant. So there would be no further (unknown) costs associated with this pay-more-now-but-no-more-later option. Definitely food for thought.

Concerning the implants, he said he uses both saline and silicone, the latter of which costs about $1000 more. He said, in his opinion, they are both equally safe and durable but that his patients are typically more satisfied with the authentic feel of silicone. In either situation, problems can occur and replacements are generally required after ten or more years. He added that, with his implant patients, he likes to see them annually to check in on everything. Concerning mammograms, he said there are two schools of thought. Some say the implants obscure a full view of the breast tissue and therefore can be very detrimental in detecting a problem. Others argue that the implant actually pushes up on the overall breast thereby propping it up in its entirety and making it easier to get a full view of everything. So, the score there is still 0-0.

But, despite providing the implant information to me, it really seemed like he was favoring the fat injection method. He made a pretty strong case to Ashley and me about the whole thing. And we saw some ridiculously impressive before and after pictures of mastectomy patients for whom he literally created entire breasts (and sometimes nipples) for these women from their abdominal tissue. They looked incredible. Lovely breasts and a flat stomach was the consistent end result. I can’t think of a category of women who deserve it more.

I have so much to think about. And still a mammogram to attend. What a day …

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Introducing the Boob Expert Panel


Where would I be without the constant …  sometimes level-headed, sometimes leap-before-you-look … advice of my friends?  (Am I supposed to be saying besties or BFFs here?  Wait, no. I’m a grown-up.)

I am blessed with more friends than I know what to do with.  So many that I am usually left feeling like a jerk when I forget somebody’s birthday or fail to meet their beautiful twin boys, now approaching a year old,  who live right here in town with me.  (Yeah, one of the hazards of my friendship these days is that you’re likely to find yourself referenced in this blog at some point.)

And, if you are one of the many wonderful people out there who I have called friend over the course of my life, you know something about me that has never changed.  I am an advice seeker.  Always.  On every subject.  I think some of my pals find it charming and some highly annoying.  Seriously, these poor souls know what I’m talking about.  I can’t buy a pair of shoes without texting the different selections to a friend or two first.  Eating out? Always an adventure with my friends apologizing to the server for my inability to decide on a menu item. I think I recently polled numerous people about choosing a new salad dressing. It’s what I do.  Like it or not.   I want second opinions.  And thirds.  And so on.

For this reason, I’ve elected to assemble my own ODNT Expert Panel (more comical names encouraged for submission … Team Boob?  I don’t know. I’m tired today), consisting of girlfriends of mine who have actually had boob jobs. These girls are all a really important part of my life and will now serve as my consultants for all the big questions that arise over the course of this project.  They will become my panel of authorities who will help guide me and anyone else reading here.  So, without further ado, please allow me to introduce you to Anne, Cindy, Elizabeth, Hannah, Kelly, Mary, Megan, Melissa, Paige, Red and Vineen.  No, not all of my girlfriends elected to use their real names.  Some yes, some no.  Remember, I’m the only attention-hogging grandstander here. (FYI, I will be posting the appeal I made to this incredible group of women and their responses in the near future.)

Oh, yeah. And remember that we are certainly not limited to the above eleven.  If you want to join the panel … either using a pseudonym or your real name … contact me and let me know.  Blog commenting, private messaging, voice mail, email, text, snail mail, carrier pigeon, morse code, skywriting, singing telegrams, strip-o-grams, mental telepathy, message in a bottle, two cans and string, throwing a rock through my window … all of these methods would be fine.  Though I think the last one would tick off my husband.  So “don’t” do it!

Thanks to my girlfriends who have already signed on.  And here’s welcoming any more who want to jump in.  I promise lots of laughs along the way.  Even if they’re all at my expense!

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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.

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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. 🙂

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Q&A: Why are you considering a boob job and going public about it?


In the four days since ODNT’s introduction, I’ve gotten a good bit of feedback from many people in my life. There have been lots of friends offering up the fist-pumping, you-go-girl types of responses.  I love you, guys.  You make things easy for me here.  Of course, there have also been some genuinely concerned friends who have sought me out either to offer specific instructions regarding this process or to coerce me to reconsider the whole thing.  I love you, guys, too … as I know you’re only looking out for my best interests.  To everyone reading here, let me explain where I’m coming from.

To the why-are-you-getting-a-boob-job question posers, as I’ve already explained, I am unhappy with my post-breastfeeding body and I am merely looking to restore it to its original form.  I am not, repeat NOT, looking to Pamela Anderson-ize myself.  To those who see me regularly, know that I am a card-carrying Victoria’s Secret shopper and I have invested in unbelievably deceptive bras over the years.  Bras that have been advertised with words like “bombshell” and “miraculous.”  When you see me right now, you are not actually seeing me in my natural state. My bras and I are inseparable!  And the change I seek for myself is to achieve the same result and be the same person you see now … only without the costly, ridiculously padded and hot (during the nine-month summers we have in my neck of the woods) undergarments.  Ultimately, the goal is that YOU will not know the difference.  But I will.

To the okay-I-get-the-boob-job-but-why-are-you-going-public-with-everything question posers … As I mentioned to a good friend just today, I want to talk openly about it.  I promise that my story will be sometimes funny, always tasteful and entirely honest.  I hope to educate other women as well as myself very thoroughly, more so than I ever could have if I stayed underground about everything.  Who knows?  I may gather all of the information and decide against the whole damned thing.

I never said there was no EJECT button.

That’s what this project is all about.  Learning about the whole thing together.  Openly and honestly and hopefully laughing our asses off at some of the findings and stories that present themselves along the way.  (Truth be told, I’ve already got a few I can’t wait to tell.)  So, please hang in there with me … even if you think I’m crazy … and let’s see what we can uncover about boob jobs together.

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Q&A: Will you be sharing before and after pics on the blog?


No. What am I … nuts? Unlike the other anonymous bloggers out there, my identity is fully public and therefore my assets can’t be. Ironic, isn’t it? Now, that said, if you’re a girl in close enough proximity to me – and you really want to see the results – no problem. Sorry, guys. You’re on your own here. Just remember – I never said I wouldn’t be posting pictures of OTHER people’s boob jobs – the good, the bad and the horribly disfigured.

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