As I lay on the ground trying to sleep last night, as this was the only successful method of the 10 I’d tried that night to reset my back, one thing became very apparent to me. The time has come to get my boobs cut off – simply put it is time to get a breast reduction.
To overshare I am a 10GG (AU size), or a 32J (US size). To give you an idea of how much weight this is, that means I walk around with the equivalent a chihuahua stuck to my front every day. In comparison, a bottle of 2L drink weighs less. Imagine having either of these strapped to your chest, and walking around with the weight putting stress on your back and neck all day.
It’s not something that I’ve given much serious thought to before, but the moment I made the choice I realised it was the right one. Speaking with my mother, who agrees, it quickly became clear I’ve been making allowances to deal with my back pain before it began. I have a system where I lie down during my lunch break to give my back a break. I lie down when I get home. I lean my upper body on my desk during work. I roll my back out in the evenings. I can’t spend more than 15 hours without a bra (even if lying down all day) or it’ll throw my back out. I sometimes sleep with a pillow to help with the weight. And until yesterday I genuinely didn’t think any of this was odd or needed to be addressed.
Me and ‘the girls’ have always been friends in my mind and while I like to joke that they’ve paid for themselves in drinks, I haven’t been less than a DD since I was 12. Sure it’s been annoying to not be able to wear a button up shirt, but that’s never truly bothered me. But now like those old high school friends that reveal themselves to be toxic, bitches have to go.
The decision is new, but I’m already resolute. The little voice in my head has already reared her ugly head and asked if the reason this maybe took so long to get to anyway is because of a western culture of looking at large breasts as desirable? Will I ultimately regret my choice? But then I remember I’m actually just useless and don’t recognise I’m exhibiting coping behaviour until much further down the line. Also the idea of a button shirt greatly excites me in a deeply tragic way.
So I’ve booked a doctor’s appointment, and am going to make my case to not take a chunk from my wallet while taking a chunk from my chest. In a perfect world I’d get it sorted in 3 – 4 months but I also know it’s more likely 2 years on a wait list, assuming I can get onto it to begin with. If I can’t then private will be the way to go, but with a $16,000 price tag there are worse fates.
The question everyone’s asked so far though? I’m thinking a D cup (2 guinea pigs) might be the goer.