Tag Archives: boobs

Let the voting begin! And then there were two …


Okay … I want you to think very carefully  … as your input will help me make my decision. Please take a moment to look back on the five consultation reports and get a feel for the doctors again.  Honestly, I was the one there … and it was my boobs being handled over and over and over again … and I STILL needed to go back and review everything just to write the cheat sheet yesterday.

Pretend like it’s YOUR boobs.  I need you to help me pick two doctors to advance to round two.   My husband will be joining me for these two appointments.  Hell, my mom might even be coming along.

What would you do? Remember … my girls are counting on you.

 

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Shall we play a game?


Okay, who’s thinking about War Games now? I can’t hear those words without hearing a monotone, oversynthesized robotic computer voice, too. Admit it. If you’re a child of the 80s, that’s where your brain went when you read this title. Matthew Broderick, the WOPR, “The only winning move is not to play” … you know what I mean.

Anyway, I’m home with my boy today who is as sick as a dog. At the moment, we’re attempting a little nap, which is likely only to result in 15 minutes of fitful rest. The kid’s never been much of a sleeper. And the cat, who I may bake into a pie very soon, is hellbent on keeping him awake right now. For those who don’t know, Milo is a very loud and needy cat.

So, with only 15 minutes or so of potential free (writing) time today, I thought it would be fun to play a goofy little game inspired by an idea from my friend, Chris.

We’ve all heard them. From hooters to headlights, there are a million names for boobs. And, in this very special month dedicated to breast health, let’s see if we can come up with a boob word for every letter of the alphabet. Using the comment boxes below, the first person would list an A-word. Then, the next person would list a B-word. And so on. Follow?

And here are the rules:

  1. You may only submit one answer per comment.
  2. You may play more than once but the same person can’t answer for two letters in a row.
  3. Funny is fabulous. Racy is fine. But so vulgar that I will start crying and run screaming to hide under my covers ’til morning is not. Be nice!

And I’ll start us off with the first boob word. A is for … (see comments below)

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Introducing the family freak


Today was consultation appointment number five. FIVE!!!

A moment of silence please for my overhandled boobs.

Some things about the experience were the same and others were different. And, as always, I have a lot to digest … and then regurgitate to you. (Yeah, that sounded way better in my head.)

So until I’m ready … and until my appointment buddy, Melissa, signs off on everything … I will leave you with this picture.

“Introducing Milo, the amazing … spineless … contortionist cat.”

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I don’t even want to know what he was doing when I walked in on him.

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Reader Poll #1 – Favorite Doctor


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The Fourth Consultation – I could now teach a master class


It was a typical school morning. The kids were griping about their breakfast and then again about their lunch choices. Yes, I love the snot out of them. But, son of Moses, eat the damned food and quit complaining … please! And, just as I managed to get them out of the door and throw myself together, Vanessa was already in the driveway to pick me up. My poor friend had a hairdryer malfunction this morning and still made it over here on time. God bless her.

I was so not in the boob-groping, question-asking mode but I had to slap myself around and get in the zone again … for the fourth time in the last few weeks … not counting the unexpected mammogram and the ultrasound.

We found the doctor’s office with no trouble and got settled in. The decor was very “man den.” Neither one of us could better categorize the look of the place. It was very nicely appointed and clearly very masculine. There were no television shows or before and after books to keep us occupied so I attacked my fourth packet of dry personal paperwork while Vanessa thumbed through the magazines and kept us entertained. Robert Redford was on the cover of AARP magazine. Pass. Cosmo had a cover story entitled What Guys Hate for You to Wear in Bed. Simultaneously, Vanessa said “headgear!” while I went with “retainers!” Of course, the story was actually about matronly night gowns. We liked our answers better.

I think we were debating the cosmetic benefits versus the health risks of the Latisse eyelash growth treatment when the nurse called my name.

Unlike the other appointments, this one started with the doctor’s assistant (and not the doctor) doing the interview. She was great. She laughed at all of my nervous jokes and didn’t miss a beat. I like that quality in my medical personnel. I also like it in my kids’ teachers, my waiter, my dry cleaner, my masseuse, my grocery bagger, etc. but that’s beside the point.

She asked about my recent breast lump. I mentioned that everything had turned out fine. She asked about pregnancies and whether or not I breastfed. My answer of ‘Like nothing you’ve ever seen’ made her laugh again. Then, she asked me to get on the scale. In front of my friend. Not cool.

After talking to me a bit, she said I sounded like a good candidate for a mini-lift/implant combo but said she couldn’t be sure until my examination with the doctor. She said, due to my small frame and (let’s be honest) my small boobs, the need for a full lift was unlikely. And, just as we were told by doctor #1, she added that a full lift with implants would require two surgeries because the risk of scarring is too great when you combine them into one procedure. The anchor incision cannot heal properly when the breast is stuffed full (creating very taut skin) with an implant. (Remember doctor #1 telling us that exact same thing? And remember doctor #2 saying the opposite? Maybe he’s Dr. Uniboob.)

The upside to the mini-lift? It involves significantly less cutting (and thus potential for scarring) than the full lift’s anchor incision. Another plus is that the mini-lift can be done at the same time as the implant insertion thus requiring only one surgery. That’s huge to me … as I don’t think I have the nerve, patience or funds to go through this shit more than once.

We then discussed the silicone versus saline decision. This office offers both but clearly favors the latter. And they offered several reasons:

(1) Saline implants cost at least $1K less than silicone.

(2) Because they are filled after they are already surgically in place, saline implants can be rolled into very thin tubes and inserted through an extremely small incision, resulting in faster healing and reduced scarring. Silicone implants are inserted in their bulbous entirety, requiring a larger incision that needs more healing and has the potential for a more visible scar.

(3) In the event of a rupture, saline implants are not harmful to the patients in that they are filled with saline which can be absorbed harmlessly into the body. A ruptured silicone implant is harmful to the patient and should have her running to the nearest doctor.

(4) A leak in a saline implant is easily detectable to the eye and thus no annual inspections are required. A leak in a silicone implant is very difficult to detect (even by mammogram) and thus an MRI is strongly recommended every other year to confirm its integrity. And those MRIs would all be at the patient’s expense.

(5) Saline implants can stay put in the patient for as long as she desires with no risk. Silicone implants should be replaced every ten years to reduce the possibility of their deterioration and thus harm to the patient.

(6) The saline implants used by the doctor (made by Allergan) come with an optional insurance policy offering a 10 year warranty on the entire procedure and the implants if there are any problems. After 10 years, the policy still covers the replacement cost of the implants themselves, but the patient would be responsible for any and all doctor’s fees associated with replacing them. Silicone implants offer no such guarantees.

Consequently, their patients opt for saline over silicone 10 to 1.

Elaborating a little on their Allergan product, she explained that the exterior of the saline implant shell is texturized rather than smooth. This new characteristic is said to feel much more natural within the patient and its roughed-up exterior adapts well with the natural tissue thus preventing the hardening of the breast and the development of scar tissue.

I asked about implants and their effects on mammography and got a much more informed answer than I had elsewhere. She explained that a patient with breast implants can have a complete and thorough mammogram but it’s imperative that she inform her technicians prior to the testing. A standard mammogram takes only a small number of images to achieve a full view of the breast tissue. A mammogram for an implant patient requires that extra images be taken to achieve a full view. So, it would seem, problem solved.

This assistant was ridiculously informative and I hadn’t even seen the doctor yet. She stepped out of the room and said she’d be back in a moment with the doctor to perform the examination. Vanessa and I were mentally exhausted but had been so thoroughly informed about everything that I think either of us could have given a lecture on the subject if asked. Our brains were both about to explode … as was Vanessa’s bladder apparently so she darted to the bathroom while I waited for the doctor.

I sat there checking emails and texts on my phone until they all came back in. I was topless within 60 seconds for an audience of three, my personal best to date. The doctor measured everything – chest width, breasts, waist and hips – as he aims to create a balanced figure. He was clearly a perfectionist (as a general physician, a plastics specialist and even a microsurgeon for the hand) which we both agreed was a really great quality in a boob man. There would be symmetry, there would be proportion and there would be art in his execution.

He then talked to us a bit, underlining everything his assistant had told us and asked if we had any other questions. No one had said anything so far about the fat injections (from the abdomen to the breasts) so I introduced the subject and was met with a very clear response:

“The American Society of Plastic Surgeons does not recommend fat injections for cosmetic breast enlargement.”

He explained (emphatically, I might add) that fat injections were only recommended for use in very small quantities (for example, in isolated touch-up areas on the face). At this point in time, he said the procedure is simply too new, too controversial and too investigational. The risk of scarring is increased and mammography becomes very difficult to interpret as foreign tissue is now present in the area. He also added that the technique offered less aesthetically to the patient as they are often required to undergo the procedure repeatedly to maintain their results. Fat deposits relocated to the breast area are frequently re-absorbed into the body, meaning the augmentative effects are lost.

Such a different opinion than doctor #3.

So, back to the implants. This doctor much prefers under the muscle placement. Honestly, it seems most doctors do. He said they feel better and are more naturally camouflaged within the body. He further added that under the muscle placement offers better mammography results as well as significantly less breast hardening. The textured saline shells, used by this office, result in little to none of this problem and massage, while often required with implants, is not needed at all.

He asked about sizes and, with a little guidance, we decided I should be looking at somewhere between 270ccs and 330ccs. That would supposedly put me somewhere between a small C and a full C. (Vanessa reminded me that doctor #2 wanted to put me in a pair of 450ccs. I’m not sure I could have gotten out of bed in the morning.)

And then they brought out ‘The Great Big Book of Breasts’ (okay, they don’t call it that but wouldn’t it be a great name?) which looked a lot like a wedding album. Granted, it would be a very creepy wedding album and potentially X-rated given its sometimes horrifying contents (the befores, of course). And, after looking at yet another catalog featuring page after page after page of boobs staring back at me, I have two comments to make here:

(1) This doctor does beautiful work.

(2) There are a lot of ugly ass boobs out in the world. Seriously, I have seen chests as flat as a man’s, boobs that look like long empty tube socks stretching down below the ribs, nipples as big around as Coke cans … you just can’t even imagine.

Oh, and if you’re thinking that I forgot to ask about Board Certification, think again. I asked both the assistant and the doctor. And, in keeping with the theme of the whole appointment, I got an answer plus a little bit more. First of all, yes – the doctor is, of course, Board Certified in his field. (At that point, we were pretty sure he had a body suit with a big “S” across his chest under his white coat.) And then he taught us a little something extra. He explained that we must not simply ascertain that the doctor is “Board Certified.” We must confirm that the doctor is ‘Board Certified in Plastic Surgery.” Any doctor can be “Board Certified” but it could be for General Surgery and not Plastic Surgery, which is one big ass red flag. And, apparently, there are plenty of general docs out there anxious to get a piece of this cash cow industry who masquerade as specialists by calling themselves ‘Cosmetic Surgeons.’ Load of crap. Remember that.

The bottom line is that we both really liked him. And I’ve now seen four doctors … and gotten four pretty different opinions. I honestly didn’t expect that. And I’m seeing doctor #5 this Thursday.

Seriously … my head hurts.

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A Slap in the Boob with Reality


It’s been a taxing week.  For me … and I’m sure for everyone.  For that reason, I thought we could all use a good laugh right about now.

Over the course of my three appointments so far, I’ve learned a lot about breast enhancement techniques that all seem to involve general anesthesia, some healing time and chunks of cash large enough to make me take pause.  Perhaps instead I should just be hopping a plane to Bangkok to seek out Khemmikka Na Songkhla, the sole proprietor of the first-ever boob-slapping spa (which, for those interested, apparently also services the face and butt).

I like Thai food.  Maybe I could make a weekend out of it.

Songkhla’s clients are drawn in to the spa (a term I’ll use loosely) to have their breasts slapped repeatedly by this woman with the expectation of increased shapeliness and size.  This “procedure” actually sheds a whole new light on the pain that women … and I’m betting a few men, too … around the world are willing to endure in the name of beauty.  Although, I guess we really crossed that line years ago when we started injecting poison (the rat variety, if memory serves) into our faces to stave off a few unsightly lines, didn’t we?

I’m sure her clients leave the spa with reddened faces, either at the repeated strikings of Madame Songkhla or perhaps due to fact that they’ve just been royally screwed.  Of course, we do apply reddening blushes to our faces.  And I remember Scarlett O’Hara pinching her pre-Maybelline era cheeks in pursuit of pink youthfulness.  So, maybe there’s something to it. But I really think all that slapping would just serve to piss me off. Still, I would imagine that over the years I have ticked off my fair share of people.  Some of them might even be reading … right now.

Tell you what.

If you have any interest in beating the crap out of my boobs and maybe saving me a few pennies, send me a message.  We can make a day of it … and even do lunch after. On me.

Click  below to see a subtitle-riddled video of this mind-boggling technique.

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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!

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