Two days until surgery (or three sleeps, as Tery says. She measures in sleep because that’s the biggest hurdle in her day, whereas I count the day conquered just by successfully waking up). This is going to be a collection of random boob-related thoughts and feelings.
As I biked with Gerry last weekend, he morosely, but with just the barest hint of hopefulness, said, “For what it’s worth, I think you should just get a reduction.” Poor Gerry. I’m sure he speaks for all men everywhere (they take breasts so seriously), but this is my Pegasus. I’m sure somewhere on the Internet you can find a site with naked boobs. Try to enjoy those.
I told him how I had noticed men being a lot friendlier to me all of a sudden; in the grocery store, at 2 a.m., with no bra on, I think every one of them smiled and said hi. “It’s because of your big boobs!” he said, but I disagree. I’ve had them for most of my adult life, it’s only lately that I’ve been unable to contain my joy because I’m losing them. I feel like I’m positively glowing. Maybe it’s that plus the big boobs. Sorry, boys.
It’s been a series of milestones: My last period before surgery. My last Monday with boobs (as Tery pointed out). This weekend will be the last shift at the hospital before two whole glorious weeks off. Sunday will be my last bike ride before six weeks off, and Sunday night will be my last shower–with boobs.
One milestone I can’t seem to move on from is this damned sunburn. The peeling passed quickly enough. Now I’m in what’s apparently known as “hell’s itch.” Just like poison ivy, the more you scratch the worse it itches. It comes and goes totally at random, and when it’s here I want to claw my skin off. With two days to go, I’ve resigned myself to the idea that I’ll be dealing with it on top of recovering from surgery. Won’t THAT be fun?
I have two underwire sports bras that have served me well (but truthfully are getting a little looser in the support department). I have taken great care to never put them into the dryer, because Hedwig sez:
This week one snuck into the dryer. At first I was dismayed. Then I realized, after Monday it truly won’t matter. That thought made me deliriously happy. As well as realizing I’d never have to deal with this shit again the last time I wrestled another sports bra on while still damp from the shower, and it turned into a big tangled elastic band around my shoulders. Women, you know what I’m talking about. Fuck this noise.
On one particularly sticky, stifling night I was sleeping topless. A big wind was doing its thing loudly with our windchimes. Since I’m a considerate neighbor, I went out to take them down. It was midnight, no one else was around, so what the hell? I risked it shirtless. The warm wind on my bare torso was the best thing I’d ever felt. I think if every woman could feel that they’d all want this surgery, or at least the same right that men enjoy currently to go topless outside. #freethenipple
Happily, Tery is fully on board with the plan, and in fact admitted the ladies were always a borderline turn-off (nice to know after 23 years). She was in a mood one day and I asked if she was upset about losing them. “Nope, see ya!” and she irritably smacked one as she stomped past (it’s okay. I smack them angrily all the time too).
She was very happy to hear the nipples get resized. She didn’t know that, and thought my huge stretched out areolae would look ridiculous on a male chest.
I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I didn’t lose all the weight I wanted, but as of today according to my scale, I’m down 27 pounds since the beginning of summer (and the ladies weigh just over a pound each, as best I can tell with a postal scale (they feel much heavier), so let’s make that an even 30 come Monday). I did it by biking 4-5 times a week, most of it high intensity, and really cracking down on sugar in my diet (it’s freaking everywhere. Be strong). And drinking lots of water and a little resistance training for my chest, because everyone says that makes recovery easier. That’s it. Easy peasy.
For one afternoon I suddenly became obsessed with the fear that they would grow back if I gained weight. This was impossible to research because nearly everyone who has this surgery also takes testosterone (which I really, really don’t want to mess with). I spent an hour reading about herbal equivalents (the vast majority of which focus on the libido benefits, which I don’t need) before deciding it was all too inconclusive and risky to experiment with. (At any rate, my friend who had a reduction asked her doctor and the answer was yes, it’s possible with “major” weight gain. Kind of vague, so let’s hope “major” means “hundreds of pounds.” If anyone can clarify this for me I’ll be your friend forever.)
That’s all for now. I probably won’t be able to update in writing before The Big Day, but I’m going to try my hand at some video for the occasion. Watch this space.
Well, that’s it for now. Goodbye, boobies. I’d be lying if I said it’s been fun.