TMI (Titty Modification Information)

I did it. I had the breast reduction, just in time to be the Bride of Frankenstein for Halloween. Never have I been so sliced apart and stitched back together.

I've a small frame and though men often seemed impressed by by breasts, I never was. They were just too big. Not Dolly Parton big, but too big, proportionally, for my diminutive height. My back hurt. While my friends were buying cute push-up bras to increase their cleavage, I was buying minimizing bras that looked and felt more like cages than lingerie. So, I had a reduction--two cup sizes, down to a 34D. Yeah, I needed it.

Also, I decided to let my vanity get the better of me and have the doctor get rid of the pregnancy-induced stretchmarks on my tummy. How did he do it? Well, he skinned me. And it hurt.

Never have I been more relieved to be put under anesthesia. I was so nervous before the operation, I thought I'd pass out and not make it to the hospital. Panic Attack nervous. But the hospital staff was fantastic. They wrapped me in a warm blanket, got the IV in on the first try, and gave me something they called "a glass of wine" intravenously. It worked wonders. I was dead to the world in no time. But I woke up feeling like I'd been hit by a Mack Truck.

During the operation, my breasts were cut open and my nipples removed. I like to imagine my nipples sitting side by side on a little silver tray next to the operating table. Like pinkish pepperoni. Don't worry. They were stitched back on. And yes, they regained sensation, though the process of my nerves re-attaching and repairing themselves was, at times, excruciatingly painful.

My abdomen was sliced open from hip bone to hip bone and then from side to side, right under my bellybutton. That stretch-marked piece of skin was removed. Sort of like a mini-tummy tuck, but with no liposuction or fat removal. Just skin removal. The problem was that I didn't have enough loose skin to fill the gap. I wasn't fat, just scarred; not only with stretch marks, but also with the scars from several abdominal surgeries. So, when I was stitched back together, I was literally folded over, unable to stand, sit, or lie down straight until my skin loosened enough to allow it. It took weeks and weeks.

So, to recap, my breasts had been sliced open, two cup sizes of tissue discarded, and my nipples removed and then stitched back on again. I'd been sliced from hip bone to hipbone. Basically in half. A section of skin was removed, my abdomen then so tight that I couldn't sit, stand or lie straight for over two months. It hurt like crazy. Horrible pain.

That's all over now. And I can say that I'd do it again in a New York minute. The results are stunning. I couldn't be more pleased.

The scars are nearly gone. I don't even need a bra, if I don't want one. And there are days, when I'm wearing thicker shirts, that I don't wear one. No one can tell. When I do want more coverage, I usually just wear a tank or maybe a sports bra. I have perfectly perky, perfectly shaped, all natural 34D's and I love them. It's a shame to cover them at all. I'm thinking of going aboriginal. Did I say that I loved my breasts? I love them! And, no, I'm not bragging. Any woman can have breasts this deliciously gorgeous for seven grand. It's a matter of priorities. ;P

My tummy is perfectly flat, stretch mark free, and finally I can see the fruit of all the crunches I've done over the years. I have abs. I do have a long scar, but it's low and won't show when I'm wearing my bathing suit. Which won't be a tankini this year, but a bikini. Yellow polka-dotted, possibly. I can't wait.

So, ladies, if you've thought of a breast reduction, then I say go for it. I couldn't be more pleased with mine. Now, getting rid of the stretch marks was really painful and difficult, and though I'm pleased with the results, I'm not so quick to recommend it. Walking along scrunched over for weeks on end was dreadful. One would really need to hate one's stretch marks to go through that process. I don't regret it at all, but only those prepared for the pain and a very long, but generally unseen, scar should consider it.

I no longer look like the Bride of Frankenstein, all stitched together. I look damn good. For the first time in a long time, I really believe that. After a shower, I no longer cringe at my stretchmarks when hurrying past the mirror naked. Now I stop and look. And smile. It's a good feeling. Real Good.

KA