a new perkier saline-filled redhead – part 2

Lets get back to the boobs. (if you missed it, click here to go back to the beginning of the breast story).

We now return to my journey on the road to perky bra-less breasts!  

We left off with all my research.  The next obvious and most important decision is finding the right surgeon.  Although there are obviously many cosmetic surgeons in my area, I get the impression there are only about 3 or 4 specific doctors responsible for the majority of the perky breasts in my town.  Let’s just stop here and ponder the thought that comes to my mind,

“What do you think the wives of plastic surgeons are thinking when they are out to dinner on a Saturday night and they bump into a patient whose breasts were molded with their husband’s hands?”

The whole thing is just weird to me.  However, I am a bit practical so I would probably be thinking, “Wow, her right boob paid for our flights to go skiing in Utah and the left boob covered this months Amex bill.”

Back to me and my “moderately relaxed” breasts.

Now, the surgeon selection begins.  I contacted 3 of the highly recommended doctors for consultation appointments.  Making an initial appointment with these surgeons was very much like the story of Goldilocks and the 3 Bears.  One doctor who we will call Dr. Mama Bear did not have an appointment available for at least six months (translation: I could not have the surgery until well into the summer.  This timing would definitely not be ideal.  It was my goal to be completely healed before it was time to put on either a bathing suit or Nike’s latest summer tennis line.)  Another doctor, Dr. Papa Bear, had an appointment available within a couple of days – wait a minute, I got nervous as to the reason his appointment book was so empty.  The final doctor, Dr. Baby Bear, had an appointment available in about a month.  Perfect.  I did make an appointment with all three as I knew it was important to meet with each one and not judge a doctor by the appointment waiting time.

My first appointment was with Dr. Mama Bear.  I was so excited to go for my consultation.  The idea that I was actually going forward with this surgery was so exciting to me!  In the not so distant future I would be able to walk around my own home bra-less and not feel like I had to hold myself up.  I was bursting to tell everyone, “Hey, I am going to go for my breast consult.”  Okay, maybe I only told all my girlfriends, and the guy who processes all my returns at Target, and the Publix store manager, and my favorite tennis pro – but, that was it.

On the morning of my appointment, I had a school committee-planning meeting I needed to attend before I went to the doctor’s office.  At the meeting were 6 women I hardly knew.  (note: Of those 12 breasts in attendance, I know at least 2 pairs of breasts were enhanced with saline.)  While I like to think I have some positive personality traits, personal discretion is not one of them.  (well, duh, I am writing this blog and putting it all out there!)  So, instead of telling a white lie and saying I had to leave the meeting early to do something respectable (give blood, volunteer at an animal shelter, do my taxes, picket Wal-Mart for supporting child labor in China, brazilian waxing appointment, eyelash extensions etc…), I chose another route.  In the midst of the life altering discussion of what type of bowls to use on the tables at the school function – yes, the days of volunteering moms are filled with never ending excitement -  I burst out, “Gotta go, I am going to the doctor for a breast lift consultation.”

If I would not have been so excited about the appointment, I would have left the office the minute I walked into the waiting room.  When I asked to use the restroom, the very nice receptionist directed me to the potty and informed me, I only had “one flush” because there was a problem with the plumbing.  Oh, did I mention this doctor was very proud to have his surgical center inside his office?  Um, so what happens if this “slight plumbing problem” reoccurs when I am in la-la land and the doctor has his hands inside my ……. oh, I don’t even want to think about it.  Look, I did not have to go to medical school to know this is a bad sign.  When you are at a cosmetic surgeon’s office and use the bathroom, you should not have to wash your hands using the six-month-old Purell found at the bottom of your purse.

Even without indoor plumbing I wanted to have a consult with this doctor because he was the sculptor who created a close friend’s enviable breasts.  The consultation was fine and the doctor was fine.  Not more, not less.   We chatted, I undressed, and he maneuvered my breasts into different positions while silently studying them very intensely.  He acted as if he was waiting for my breasts to suddenly reveal the secrets to DaVinci’s Code.  I suppose he eventually realized he was not going to solve any mysteries within my mammary glands.  He finally told me I could change out of the lovely paper blouse I was modeling and get dressed.  I moved on to another room to view a video.  Don’t get too excited.  Jenna Jameson did not appear anywhere in the 7 minute video about breasts.  At this point in the consult, I was starting to feel like I was buying a car.  Think about it, I was being moved from room to room, different people were coming to talk to me about what I wanted and now I was being given the financial information.   I was expecting the doctor to come into the room and say, “What is it going to take to write this sale?  Floor mats, a DVD player, or how about spinning rims?”

After the video, another office staff member returned to the room.  I believe she was “the closer.”  She gave me a piece of paper with the surgery cost printed and – I swear this is the truth – she circled the amount and wrote “$500 discount if you book the surgery by the end of February.”  There is not doubt I am a girl who loves a bargain.  However, I don’t care if we are in a recession, my cosmetic surgeon should not be offering signing incentives!  Do I even have to spell this out?  Dr. Mama Bear was not the right surgeon for me.

Next….

My next appointment day arrived.  I was ready to see the surgeon I will call, Dr. Baby Bear.  I was a little bit nervous to meet this doctor.  He had great referrals from patients I knew – 5 pairs of breasts, 3 tummy tucks, a bit of lipo and a fantastic nose re-model.  However, when I looked up his picture on his website, he looked younger than my husband.  No, I am not being “age racist”.  I am confident a young doctor would be a great surgeon – that is not the problem.  I have a theory about selecting doctors, which previously only applied to gynecologists.

 Any doctor who is going to see me naked – either partially or completely – should not be someone I could see myself going on a date with, if I was single, of course. 

Therefore, when his picture reminded me of a guy I had a crush on in college, I was nervous.  I was relieved when I met him in person.  While he still was a cute guy, he definitely is a bit older than he appeared online.  So, I was able to relax.  I could now comfortably discuss the current state of my breasts with this man whom I just met seconds before.

This right here is definitely the strangest part of the consultation.  While I share my thoughts openly, I am very modest with my body.  I cannot pee with the door open and I also find a way to hide my body while changing in a women’s locker room.  And public dressing rooms – oh forget it.  Years ago, I went to the discount store Loehman’s and found some fantastic dresses at incredible prices.  I took them with me back to the changing rooms to try them on.  When I walked into the dressing room, I noticed it was exactly that – one dressing room.  Yes, one dressing room for the entire population of North Miami Beach.  I took one look at the women of all ages and shapes attempting to squeeze into the wrong sizes of discount clothing.  Then, very quickly, I put the clothes down, turned around and ran out of the store without looking back.  Even great prices do not trump my dressing room modesty.

Okay I digress yet again.  However, the point of those examples is the irony of the situation.  Pre-surgery I would not try on a t-shirt in front of other women yet, I was disrobing even more in the presence of this man I just met.

Since I realized I could not ask him to remove his shirt (or pants) so we were both evenly dressed, I tried another way to relax.  I employed my same mental mantra which gets me through the embarrassment of my yearly Gyn appointments, “he sees so many of these, mine is not unique, he sees so many of these, it is just a body part, he sees so many of these ……” 

There I was once again with a man I only met minutes before attempting to perform origami on my relaxed breasts.  He proceeded to create a swan, a butterfly and a very life-like crane with my breasts.  After manipulating my breast tissue everyway one could imagine, he was done.  I was finally able to get dressed and attempt to have a dignified conversation.  Seriously though, I really did like him as well as his staff.  This Dr. Bear was just right.  ( Oh, I forgot to mention something else.  Each and every pair of breasts attached his to office staff were the surgeon’s own artistic creation – and from what I could see, they were all great.)

Now that the surgeon had been selected, all that was left was to find a perfect day to have the surgery.  Since I would not be able to drive for at least a week after the surgery, this was really going to interfere with my full-time job as family chauffeur.   I would have to do a lot of juggling to make this work.  Therefore, finding the perfect date was as complicated as scheduling the 2008 G7 summit.   Ironically, the winning date turned out to be the same day as that school event I mentioned earlier.  You know, the one which I attended a planning meeting for on the day of my original consultation. 

When the day of surgery finally arrived, I did try my best to control my excitement about my surgery scheduled for later that day.   Throughout the school event, I made small-talk with many of the very proper school moms.  I managed to tell only about half of them I needed to leave a few minutes early because I was about to go under the knife so I could look better in a tank top.  Okay, I said I tried my best, not that I was successful… 

This is way too long to keep going.  If you are interested in finding out how everything turned out, come back and check in with me in a few more days.  I will work on new ways to bribe my children to be quiet and let me devote more time to this crazy blog.

Thanks for reading.  Click here to learn more about me!