In a family of big bosomed women, I was a late bloomer. For too long I hid my shame with tissues stuffed into a AAA bra, graduating to bras that were 3/4 padding. But when they finally blossomed, my bosoms were spectacular. Men delighted in them and clothes strained around them. Gym change room women would comment with mixture of awe and dismay: ‘you have the biggest firm boobs I’ve ever seen’.
I loved my boobs even as they often spilled over the top of my bra. I wore them proudly and never tired of the reaction. I reveled in these spectacular boobs of mine. A couple of times me and my boobs made it into magazines.
These boobs continued to serve me well, although always in good taste, through my on-camera reporting years and into my Entrepreneurial years.
In the fullness of time, I turned my attention to having babies and gave over my bounteous boobs to become feasts of plenty. These children were far more important than keeping my Spectacular Boobs spectacular. Although, even after children they were still pretty special, if not their former spectacular selves.
Our two daughters grew up and alas, grew apart, tho both were by my side for the cancer diagnosis. Just the right boob. And to be expected, in excising the demon, my right boob developed its own personality. A smile of a crooked scar trekked its way along one side. I fully forgave my right boob for being a little less special than the left; I consoled myself:right girl was just a diminished version of herself.
Life went on with its ups and downs and slightly wonky boobs.
Fast forward, to recently, when I found myself immersed in the impossible – a second menopause. Inconceivable but yes, 10 years after I thought I’d left my last hot flash behind, I’m hot and bothered again. We rare second-time flashers experience the further indignity of a second time spreading midsection and loosening of the joints.
This was all insulting enough but I hadn’t figured on the left boob deciding to absorb extra weight for both boobs, becoming Boob that Took Over The World. I became self conscious, camouflaging the difference with strategically placed scarves and purse straps. Eventually left and right nipples became so misaligned they reminded me of my daughters.
I decided to consult a surgeon. Which I did. He’s ‘treated’ several members of my family when they’ve needed cosmetic expertise (eye tags, disfiguring moles) and he gave me the goods. I went away asking myself: why go under the knife electively? Nobody at home’s complaining.
It took another year to call the surgeon back just to check on timing, meaning how long a wait might it be to get in for surgery. I assumed it’d be a months long wait, and I’d have plenty of time to argue its merits between myself and myself. When his nurse informed me that a spot had opened a mere month away, I made the snap decision.
my misaligned ta tas
My daughters were unsure. One daughter (perhaps she’s watched too much TV) worried I’d wake up from General Anesthetic a different person. The other just worried.
But once I’d made the decision, I couldn’t wait for my left to be reduced to match my right, with the doctor’s caveat: “We are creating sisters not twins”.
I marched into the hospital, and wheeled out feeling already lighter.
A week after surgery, the unwrapping. This just meant off the bra and the out a layer of cotton padding. The good doctor was attempting to explain expected bruising but it didn’t matter. I was in love. It was love at first sight. No longer distant cousins, my nipples are aligned again. He was a bit taken aback at my instant enthusiasm: “If you like this you’ll love the end result.”
It’s bruised and looks battered but I am ecstatic about my new boob. People tell me I’m holding myself differently. I finally look balanced. My daughters, who’d combined forces for the first time in forever, made sure I was doted on and celebrated. Seeing my reaction, both have said how proud they are that I just did this for me.
Aligned again!
This boob job has proved more beneficial than I could’ve anticipated.
Both girls were aligned in their admiring of the finished product: “You have great tits, mom”
