Surviving the surgery

(image taken from: https://medium.com/@dhanwantarischrysalis/breast-reduction-surgery-what-it-is-benefits-procedure-risks-and-much-more-8de29bd0212) (image caption: a 4-step cartoon showing the stages of 1 type of breast reduction. 1: Incisions outline the area of the excess tissue to be removed. 2: Escess skin and fat are removed. The nipple and areola and then moved to a new and higher position. 3: The incisions are brought together to reshape the now smaller breast. 4: Sutures are placed around the areola and can extend downwards and horizontally under the breast crease.)

Content warning: some people may find the following post distressing. 

I had hoped to get a post up in a day or two after surgery, but recovery has been a lot harder than I thought it would be.

The day of my surgery was 7th March 2020, which feels like months ago but was less than a week. I wrote before that I felt ready to go under the knife, but on the morning of the surgery I found myself with doubts.

I checked in to the hospital at 7.45am, into a private room, since I was paying the hospital £5,800 for the pleasure of being there (not including surgeon consultation fees). My mum and partner came with me, and were allowed to stay all day, which was another perk.

The surgery was not until after 12pm, and so that was a lot of time to fret about it. Dr Stephenson (I've since been told that surgeons are Mr and not Dr, but I feel I've committed to this now) came to see me and put a lot of black marker over my breasts, giving him a guide as to what to remove and where to move my nipples to. (That picture will be going up at a later date).

Looking at all the black ink was a tad horrific. It really brought home the fact that my breasts were actually going to be completely cut apart, and that this was actually quite an undertaking. I felt bad then for not being body positive enough, and for failing the body positivity movement by being unable to love my gigantic, painful mammaries. I still feel a bit weird about it all to be honest, even now it's done.

The nurse and anaesthetist took me in to the preparation room outside the theatre, and did their best to make me comfortable. I knew from experience that I would soon be out, and that the next thing I knew I would be waking up in recovery, and that's exactly what happened.

I did so much reading beforehand, I thought I knew what it would be like. Everyone talked about waking up feeling lighter, but it wasn't anything like that for me. My boobs had gone from being down by my waist to being shoved up under my chain, and felt like two rocks. 2 kilos in weight had been removed, but I didn't feel any difference at all.

And then came the vomiting. Maybe people don't talk about this, or I was just really unlucky, but my skin felt about a thousand degrees, and I needed to vomit a lot. Projectile. It wasn't like vomiting at home, in the toilet, when you're a bit unwell, it was animalistic heaving. I couldn't eat that day, and I hadn't eaten since the evening before. Even the day after, I was nauseous.

Up my nose were oxygen tubes, because whilst on the operating table I experienced tachycardia. That's when your heart is beating so fast that it can fail to fill with blood, and it's a very bad thing. For days afterwards, I still felt my heart racing, and it's something that still needs to be addressed.

I was wearing an extremely tight compression bra, which holds everything in place, and over the top of that is a tight band. It was hard to move, and hard to breathe. I had so looked forward to waking up and feeling a weight off my lungs, but instead it was the same as ever, and probably worse.

All I could do was vomit, and try to sleep, and hope that things looked a lot better when I woke up.