At this time a week from now, I'll be coming out of recovery from my second plastic surgery and moving into my overnight room. It's been less than three months since I had the body lift and some lipo in prep for my third and final surgery in August. This time, I'm going in for brachioplasty and mastopexy.
Basically, I'm getting rid of the bat wings and redoing my boobs.
My elder son said to me a few months ago, "I hear you're gonna get your bat wings cut off."
"I might," I replied. "That's what I'm planning."
"But how will you fly me to school?" he asked sardonically.
"Don't worry. I'll still have my broomstick."
"Yeah, you might wanna get that removed, too."
Had he not been laughing as this unfolded, he would not have seen his eleventh birthday.
Every woman I know complains about her bat wings. Some women call them angel wings, but I find that to be insipid. But to have that excess skin removed means a very, very lengthy scar, running along the underside of each arm from just above my elbow to below the armpit. My surgeon will also do a little lipo on the remaining back bulge and tighten that skin. It'll be nice to not have to wear a back-smoothing bra.
But the biggest part of this surgery, for me, is the boob job. It's a lift and augmentation. They're bringing them higher and making them bigger. I opted for silicone gel, rather than saline, which goes under the pectoral muscle. Based on both what my surgical team has told me and on the feedback from women who've had the same type of work, there's a very strong likelihood that my new breasts will look and feel natural.
One of my nurses offered that, the way the procedure's done, I could even breastfeed again, if I wanted.
Going through all of this and having another baby would be like buying a really nice car and driving it straight into a lake.
In the last eighteen months or so, as I lost the 115 pounds, I went from a 42DD to a 36C/D. I had also breastfed my children for just over a year each. I was into a G cup when I was fully engorged.
Needless to say, there's a lot of loose skin.
I can A) live with it; B) surgically install coin purses between my breasts and armpits; or C) fill 'er up.
I debated just doing the lift, the mastopexy, without the added boobage. My surgeon reminded me that I'd always been a busty girl—fully into a D cup by the time I was 14—and that just the lift would probably bring me to a B. Nonononono! That simply will not do.
I'm an Amazon, undoubtedly. I have a very large frame, with big feet and man hands and linebacker shoulders. And no matter how big I was, I was always the busty blonde. It's just part of my identity, both as I see myself and as others see me. I could be loud and bawdy and flirty behind that shield, at once both alluring and obviating.
And breasts are a fascinating thing. Like all gender-specific organs, they are simultaneously sexual and life-giving. They are representative of both Madonna and whore, and most women find their confidence somewhere in between.
I decided to maintain that bit of self-assurance and return my breasts to their own happy medium.
No, I don't know what my new cup size will be. Implants aren't sized that way. You have to choose them based on CCs of volume, which is added on to the naturally-occurring structure. Adding 400 CCs of saline or silicone to an A cup is very different than adding it to a C cup.
There was a process of literally trying them on, of wearing a stretched-out sports bra and plopping them over my natural breasts. I've given my surgeon a narrow range of size that's acceptable to me, not too small but not too large. And I did try on some really big ones, just to see what it would be like. With the new, smaller waist, I looked like a Barbie doll. I could tell immediately that clothes wouldn't fit correctly and that they may just be too damn heavy, even with my broad shoulders and strong back. Worse, they looked and felt cumbersome. I've already spent years maneuvering around a body that felt too big; I wasn't replacing one annoyance for another.
So I'll go in next week for another seven hour procedure. Parts of me will be bigger and parts will be smaller. It will hurt and require a few weeks of recovery and incision care and scar recovery. I'm okay with all of that.
A few weeks later, I'll have to go bra shopping. Again. But I'll have to remember to carry my purse, 'cause there won't be any extra skin to hold my money.
On advice of my OB/GYN, I had a pre-construction mammogram last week. I'm almost 40, and it was time. If you or someone you know is due for the test, call now and schedule. It's really not a big deal, and it just might save your life.