Saying goodbye to my tiny boobettes was more difficult than I thought it was going to be. The night before my surgery, I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, getting a last look at the girls. Tears came to my eyes and I asked for a picture. I wanted to remember what they looked like, all of their tiny perfections and imperfections. It was odd - even though I had a love hate relationship with my “A-cup on a good day” boobies I never want to forget the “before”.
The next day at the hospital I slipped into a gown and gave my little ladies one more look-over when the doctor came in to mark me up with blue pen. Once she left we took another picture. I wanted to remember this part too...the medical stamp of officiality that everything inked up would be no more.
I was nervous about having such a major surgery, but once I was in the hospital I wasn’t very sad. I guess I was in survival mode. My mom started to tear up as they rolled me out of the prep area, which of course made me cry. But otherwise I held it together pretty well. As I rolled down the hallway to the OR, I remember thinking to myself “Well we’ve had a great run, but now you have to go!”
So ta ta tata’s!