It was an outpatient surgery, local anesthesia. When she arrived at the office, the
nurse gave her the implants to hold. They were square and wrapped in white canvas
cloth, but squishy underneath. She was surprised by their shape and look, and wondered
if it was a good idea that she hold them with her bare hands, seeing as they were
about to be implanted inside of her body. She kept these thoughts to herself.
The nurse had her lie on her back on an operating table and injected the anesthetic
into the side of her breast. Then, a middle aged, slightly gray, TV style doctor came
in. She looked at him and he smiled. She told him she was nervous about the pain,
but he said, "you'll just feel a bit of pressure," which was, in fact, how she felt.
"It's really no big deal," the doctor said. He made a quick cut across the top of
her left breast and pulled the flesh up to make space for the implant. She took a
breath and tried to relax. When he finished the left side he sewed the top of her
breast with one quick motion, as if drawing a line with a pen, then did the same on
the other side. The whole thing took about three minutes.
When it was over, she got up off the table and started walking around the doctor's
office. Her breasts felt heavy and tender. She felt her nipples through her shirt.
They were situated much higher on each breast than they had been before, and felt
harder and perkier. "Now you don't have to wear a bra," the doctor told her. She remembered
her sister-in-law letting her feel her implants in the back of the car on the way
to the theater. "I never wear a bra," the sister-in-law said. She envied that part.
But she wondered what people would say when they saw her the next day with her new,
giant tits. She hadn't told anyone she was going to do this. In fact, she couldn't
remember when or why she had made this decision in the first place. She started to
panic.
She asked the doctor if he could take them out. She worried her original breasts would
be stretched out, but thought that would be better than fake canvas ones. He told
her she'd have to wait a month for the insertion points to heal before he could do
anything. She'd have to walk around braless and buoyant for a month. She tried to
think of something positive about the whole situation but the worry that people would
think she was crazy overpowered any thoughts of comfort or fun. She touched her new
rack again. She gave a very gentle squeeze, fearing they would pop. And the weight
of them, though spry, felt heavy, pulling against her body. They felt painful the
same way her breasts hurt when she was pre-menstrual. Only now, there was more mass
to hurt.
She realized there was nothing she could do but wait, that she had made her bed, and
now she had to lie, perky and braless, in its consequence.
She sat down in a plastic chair in the waiting room of the doctor's office and thought
about what kind of clothes would cover up the bad decision she had made. She thought
about baggy shirts with high collars, dark colors, hunched shoulders, and zigzag patterns.
She leaned forward resting her forearms on her thighs and looked down at her new deep
cleavage. She sat in the chair and looked and thought and waited.
