We Must! We Must! We Must Decrease Our Bust!

So, I went back and forth on whether or not I should blog about this following subject. Its sort of personal - in an embarrassing, TMI kind of way. But then I thought about all the posts about childbirth and breastfeeding and thought that it can't get much worse than that, right?

So, here goes:

I had a breast reduction last week. It's something that I had been mulling over ever since the day I turned 15 and my favourite Hawaiian shirt (seriously, they were "in") refused to button. I have spent the last 20-odd years marvelling over the fact that people PAY to make their breasts bigger (and bigger and bigger) and thinking that the small chested of the world just don't know how good they have it. But a reduction, as any doctor will tell you, is major surgery....and I knew that if I ever had kids I would want to be able to breastfeed so I waited.

But I'm done having babies and any usefulness that these mamajamas ever had is finished. I want to join to rest of the world - a world of people who can wear only one bra to work out, or chase their kids in the park without winding up on YouTube.


So...off they went. Literally. OHIP approval was a breeze (trust me when I say there were no gray areas as to whether or not I would qualify. Dr's actual words when the gown was opened at my first consultation was "Oh my. Yes") and when his office reopened after their summer closure I was practically the first in line for the OR.


Its funny how when are 100 percent sure you are ready to do something how easy it can be. I wasn't worried or stressed. Kieran had his own Dr appt on the day of my surgery, so I had Eric drop me off at the hospital and as I waited by myself I was completely fine. Nothing could bring me down - not the check-in nurse's crankiness when I didn't have my company health insurance info, not the prep nurses sympathetic "you have NO ONE here who you could give your wedding ring to during the surgery?" Nothing. I was happy as a clam.

I was walked into the ER and my nerves flared a little bit when I saw the crowd of people in there waiting for me. I felt a bit like a fraud, like I'd pulled one over on everyone. After all, these are people who could have been helping save lives elsewhere. Even the plastic surgeon could be, say, grafting new skin onto a child burn victim or something and instead here they are getting ready cut my boobs off so I can do jumping jacks and wear an empire waist shirt? Seemed selfish.

But I sat up on the table and endured the final indignity of the surgeon using his black marker to draw plans onto my chest. (Nipple goes here. This moves here and all this...goooooesss).

The next thing I knew I was being shaken awake in recovery. The nurses very first words to me are odd. "What do you take for pain at home?" she asks loudly, cutting through my anaesthetic fog and even though I am only seconds awake I'm already sort of pissed at her. "I take Tylenol, but normally my boobs haven't just been hacked off. " OK. I only mumble the first three words aloud, but hopefully, the end of the sentence is definitely implied and I drift back out.

The next time I rouse I am being wheeled out of recovery and to my room, - which is apparently in another city. I mean, I know the hospital is big, but the trip feels like a joke. I am conscious of being in the elevator while an elderly Chinese couple stare down at me so I clamp my eyes shut again until I'm in my room.

The last time I was in a hospital was for the birth of my two children. Since they were both delivered naturally, I wasn't really prepared for how completely out of it I would be. Eric and Kieran came in but knowing that in order not to scare my three-year-old I had to put on the "Mommy is fine" voice, but I just couldn't. So, they dropped off my overnight bag and I stayed blissfully out of until quite late into the night.

When I did come fully awake I was in major pain. Nurses had been in and out of my room changing my IV, adding a Gravol drip several times because I was so nauseous. But at about 4 am I finally hit the buzzer. The nurse comes in and I ask her if I'm almost due for my pain medication. She tells me that I'm not on any and they only give you pain meds if you ask.

OK, so I'm asking, I say.

"What do you want? Tylenol or Morphine?"

Again with the freaking Tylenol. What do I have? Cramps? Obviously I want the morphine, but I something in her tone tells me that if I say that, then she is going to write me up as a junkie, so I stall.

"The Tylenol will take an hour to work." She says, and I can't take it any more.

"Just give me the morphine." I finally say.

"OK" - she says, and I swear she is smirking. "But, just so you know, you're not going home on that."

Seriously, did she think I just just endured a 3 hour surgical procedure just to get the pain meds? Do people actually do that? I have two hundred stitches, my nipples have been removed and reattached mere hours ago, the bed is covered in blood and its 4 o-freaking-clock-in-the-freaking-morning and I swear, this woman wants to hand me a glass of water and some regular strength caplets from the bottom of her purse.

Anyway, she finally adds morphine to my IV and, because I'm clearly going to be in rehab shortly anyway, she gives me an extra hit of Gravol in the IV too. And thankfully, I'm back out until morning.

The Doctor comes in with his med student and they ooh and aah over their handiwork. The med students clearly finds this awkward. He even trips on my IV on the way out. They tell me that I'm free to go home and the nurse comes in for the discharge. Except my blood pressure is really, really low so she gets the doctor back and he says that I need to eat and drink something and move around a bit, so they serve me these hideous concrete waffle sticks that I force myself to eat so that I can just leave, but the blood pressure is still low.

You need to walk around, says the nurse and then leaves.

I get up, get dressed. I'm dizzy (probably blood pressure related) and nauseous. I'm in gigantic amounts of pain because the morphine drip ended hours ago and I swear if they offer me Tylenol one more time I'm going to scream. So, finally, after I'm all ready to go, I lie back in bed and wait for Eric.

About 15 min later the nurse comes back in and says "I told you to walk around!"

Who ARE these people!? Do they hire their nurses directly from Hell or are they just leftover from Nazi concentration camps? What does she want from me?

I tell her that I WAS walking around,but she she's been gone for a half hour and I didn't have anywhere to walk to and that I just had a major surgery.

Thankfully, Eric finally arrives, and the nurse tells me that they normally provide a wheelchair for discharging patients but for me, well....they want me to walk. She reminds me of my mother, who would think that the wheelchair is lazy and that a nice long walk to the carpark a few blocks away will burn off those extra calories from the Waffle Brick I ate for breakfast.

But we finally make it out of the hospital and back to the burbs. We stop first and I fill my prespcription for, naturally, Tylenol and then we're home. I am sore, stitched, bruised, and tired, but at least I'm home.