Posts (page 2)

I just wanted to say that I have lost 10 pounds since my surgery.  10.  Pounds.  TEN.  Without any time spent on the stair climber, with having spent two weeks flat on my ass in bed with nothing but a laptop and a remote control for company.  Yay.  Now I shall bore you with not only my boobs but my ass too.  Lucky yous 

Recovery from this is really going a lot smoother then I thought it would.  Out of all of it I think the only thing that bothers me is the incisions under my right breast is so bumpy.  This is probably absolutely normal and all but It one of those irrational fear things.  I am afraid it will always be like that.  Stupid I know but there none the less.  I have a post-op on the 23rd and I am really hoping that I will hear, a great big, WOW you are healing great.  I really do think that my surgeon is an artist.  I am so in love with my boobies it isn't funny.  It is just so amazing to me, I always knew I was unhappy with my breasts because of their weight and length but I never realized just what an impact they had.  They really were an unsightly mess I had stretch marks on the tops of them, a rash underneath and between them and my poor poor nipples were just so strained.  Thankfully I didn't have the kind that look like a salad plate they were always on the smaller side but as my boobs stretched so did they so I am sure it would have been only a matter of time until they were bigger then a dinner plate and working on being the size of a serving platter. 

There is a little bit of worry though, I am afraid I will hear that I have over done it, or that something isn't right but I am sure that is also normal.  Or so I will tell myself anyways.  I also have an appointment that day with my general practitioner to discuss my anxiety attacks, although I haven't been having them for the last few days.  I did however bawl like a big fat baby over a show on Discovery Health about a woman who has a set of quads, a single daughter and then was pregnant with another set of quads and lost one.  So I know that the hormones are still there just waiting to strike.  However I at least was still annoyed by the show that followed about a family that had 2 single births then had quints or something.  I don't know why that story annoys me so, but it really does.  That along with the Duggar family.  Anyhow, I am really getting off subject from the original topic and I think we all know who to think for that.  That damn Jim Bob Dugger....wait I mean Vicodin and Valium, the deadly V's. 

Just kidding V's I really love you, keep making my boobies not hurt and my anxiety attacks go away. 

I kinda like that title.  The days and weeks since my breast reduction have passed by quickly and pretty much the same.  I was in a drugged up fog the entire first week, and to be honest most of the second week, and part of the third.  Heading into the fourth week though, I am feeling better.  In the two weeks my kids had to live at Grandma's they were my main concern.  Were they missing me, did they understand why they were there, where they happy, had they hogged tied my parents and started a bonfire.  Nature parental fears when separated from the little sunshines of their lives.  They got to come home last week, and I wont lie, taking care of them is rough.  They both weigh twice what they should for the fact that they both resemble underfed orphans.  I swear they are either 100% muscle or they have solid lead feet.  How can a 4 year old who if they were long enough would wear an 18 month pant, weigh 40 pounds?  Seriously the waist the best fits her is the 18-24 month range, but the length is like a 5 or 6.  I gave birth to a giraffe.  On the Sunday before they came home, I had a MAJOR panic attack.  It may have been an anxiety attack but since there isn't an M.D. after my name I don't think I need to give an exact diagnosis.  I was laying in bed listening to Dave play with my babies and I felt a lump under my incision.  If I understand correctly these lumps are normal and could be something as simple as dying tissue that will just get re-absorbed into my breasts.  However I decided that I had obviously torn something.  I should mention here that at my last post op I was told that I was over doing it in a big way and that my kids probably wouldn't be able to come home for another two weeks.  EEEP.  Not only did I not want them gone that long, but I was afraid my mom's head would explode.  Don't get me wrong, my mom absolutely LOVES my children.  She has an especially soft spot for my son who I call her trained monkey.  Its just hard to take care of kids this age, and a lot of work. 

The panic attack started easy enough, I was feeling that lump and started thinking, oh shit, they are going to have to go back in to fix it.  Fuck, if they go back in to fix it, that puts me at the start of the healing process again.  So I went out to my loving husband.  Don't get me wrong.  Dave loves me very much, and hates to see me hurting.  However Dave was born with a minor birth defect, he was missing the ability to lie or be anything other then painfully honest.  This is good in the sense that I never have to worry about him lying to me unfortunately its bad it situations where a white lie wouldn't be bad.  So when I told him I thought I was having a panic attack the response I was hoping for was that he would take me in his arms, tell me everything would be fine and that there was nothing to worry about.  What I got was "Is that even possible with the amount of Valium in your system"  At this point it full on hit.  I tried to fight it but instead ended up in my bed bawling like a baby.  I got it all cried out and then told him that I thought that I needed to get out of the house for a bit.  That did help and that night I apologized because along with the inability to lie, Dave startles like a deer in the headlights.  Where I was over my attack, Dave was probably afraid to fall asleep for fear I would stab him or something in his sleep.  Poor guy, he never saw what hit him when he married me.  LOL.  He doesn't quite understand depression anyways, however after having friends with girlfriends who refuse to get treatment for their postpartum and seeing what they have to go through, he appreciates my acceptance that I am bat shit crazy and need meds.

The attacks scare me because after having been on anti-depressants now for roughly 4 years, it takes a lot to cause an emotional downswing that will actually bring tears.  I can still be angry and happy however crying is generally reserved for major issues.  Before my sweet sweet pills I would cry over commercials,  things I lost, movies, songs, breakfast, lunch, dinner.  I think you get the picture.  However after them I cried rarely.  It was reserved mainly for when my babies were hurt and/or sick.  In fact the last time I cried before last Sunday was May 27th.  I can't pinpoint the exact time, but I can tell you that I was standing next to my son's crib at Flagstaff Medical Center, they were trying to draw blood from him and he was so dehydrated that they couldn't get any, on the third or fourth attempt, my sweet angel looked into my eyes and just so sadly cried Mommy.  I bawled.  You would have to be a rock to not cry at that.  Hell the nurses were crying and that is their job.  So when I get that feeling coming on it terrifies me.  I am seeing my Dr this week to discuss it.  I am really hoping it is temporary, possibly caused by withdrawals from my pain killers, which I only take at bedtime now instead of several times a day.  I really don't want to go on a higher dose of Zoloft and I would hate to add another pill to the cabinet.  Not to mention that living with that on a daily basis would be annoying.

So in a nutshell that has been my recovery, as the haze of drugs clear from my system I am sure I will remember more and I will tell you what I remember, but I still have un-recovered memories from high school drinking binges, so don't hold your breath.

Did I mention I am a feedback whore and would LURVE comments if anyone is reading.  Otherwise I just feel like I am talking to myself.  Not that I don't talk to myself, I am a good listener, but its nice to know when I am talking to someone other then myself.  Makes me feel special.

Anyways, I left off right as I was opening my bra, hoping to get some response or something.  Anyways enough bitching and back to the story.  I opened my bra closed my eyes and peeked a little and was surprised as hell.  They. Were. Gorgeous.  Well for Frankentities at least they were.  I had tapes covering the incisions so I couldn't see that, but there was minimal bruising and that beaten with a bat look just wasn't there.  I had two really dark purple bruises where my liposuction was done, but other then that, they were pretty awesome.  They looked tiny to me and I was worried that my husband would pass out, but later measurement would reveal they are at least D's right now.  After that I looked at them every time I went to the bathroom.  I went a lot too, I couldn't get enough water.  I was like a camel filling up her two new humps.  The morning passed fairly ok and then they brought breakfast.  Sweet sweet breakfast, I could see a bowl of something, a mug of coffee and some other things.  I was so damn happy I dove at the tray.  Hmm Lemon Ice, nope want something solid, Jello, nope want solid.  Apple Juice?  Nope don't want to crap my pants.  Well lets see what is in this bowl, it has to be something yummy right?  Wrong.  It was chicken broth.  CHICKEN BROTH.  CHICKEN MOTHER FUCKING BROTH.  Um, hello where is my breakfast you just brought me crap.  *sigh* That was all I was getting.  Well at least I still had that slim fast bar in my bag and now I could get to it, so I went and got that and ate it.  Again though, that would make around 500 calories total in the past 30 hours or so at that point.  I called Dave and told him I was going to be discharged soon so he needed to get to the hospital soon and then I fell asleep.  Dave got there and I was actually released fairly quickly.  We live about an hour from the hospital if not more and on the drive home I told Dave we were stopping at Jack in The Box for some food.  He said, no I don't want you to puke in my car.  To which I said.  STOP AT THE MOTHER FUCKING JACK IN THE BOX OR I WILL KILL YOU NOW.  I AM NOT NAUSEAS.  He wisely took the exit to Jack in the Box and I spotted an A & W, so I told him to go there instead, he started to argue, noticed that my eyes were starting to glow again and wisely pulled in.  He got some sad little hamburger and I got this amazing double cheeseburger concoction and fries and a the biggest diet soda they had, ironic heh, but I can't drink regular anymore its too sweet.   I seriously gobbled down my burger and fries and sucked my soda dry, then started on Dave's drink.  I told him he wasn't really thirsty anyways.  He agreed and the rest of the drive went well.  His car has sport suspension which means you feel everything in the road, this hurt quite a bit but I muscled through.  When we got home I took some pills and went to bed, and that is all I remember for that Day. 

Waking up from the surgery was no where near as freaky as when I woke up from my wisdom teeth.  Maybe since I was staying the night they didn't just shoot me full of adrenaline like at the orthodontists.  Maybe they did but the extra 50 pounds absorbed it better who knows.  I do know that as opposed to being freaked the hell out I was lucid, knew where I was and could even answer questions.  I could hear the nurses saying to go get my husband but he was at work, or rather was supposed to be, one kept saying he was in the waiting room and I said no he is at work, so they went to check and sure enough he wasn't there...um someone might have mentioned he wouldn't be.  So I told them that there were instructions to call him after the surgery in my chart but instead they just asked me his number.  I actually gave it to them area code first, which if you ask me is sooo much more impressive then drunk dialing (which btw pisses Dave off to no end..don't do it, even if you want a ride home cause you aren't allowed to come home drunk remember, you sleep where you lay)  Anyhow, they called him and I was only half right, he wasn't in the waiting room cause he had taken his laptop out to the car.  He couldn't concentrate at work so he had come back to the hosputal and sat in the waiting room.  My hero.  The details from here are fuzzy, I said a bunch of stuff that the nurses laughed at and I apparently flipped Dave off a few times, for what I can't remember but I am sure he said something sassy.  He is like that.  My 3 hour surgery had actually lasted something near 5 or 6 hours.  I kept trying to sleep in recovery but my oxygen was low so they kept waking me up to tell me take deep breaths and pissing me off.  They were trying to find me a room and told me it was possible I would have to sleep in the hall, but thankfully they found me a bed.  I really honestly can't remember if Dave went up to my room with me, but I think he did. 

I was in and out and really tired when they took me up but then I got to my room where my roommates family had no respect for the person in the next bed and were loud as hell.  They had a little guy that kept running into my area, but that I didn't care about, I have kids I know they are nuts.  Around 8:45 her phone started ringing.  She wasn't answering and it rang non-stop until the time they turn the phones off.  I was seriously annoyed but to out of it to do anything.  In fact it took until 10 to realize I had no call button.  I asked my rude ass neighbor if she could call the nurse to which she ignored me.  So I looked around until I found the phone and called the operator, got transfered to the nurses station and then requested my nurse.  The night staff was pretty rude, which was a surprise because I have usually found the night staff to be the best group.  With both kids and when my son was in the hospital the night nurses were really awesome.  These nurses must have been given a crabby pill.  My nurse came in and he was an East Indian fellow who was very nice but unfortunately in my  drug filled STARVING state, I really couldn't understand much.  Did I mention nobody would feed me?  I will get back to that.  He came in and told me that he heard I needed him and that I should use my call button.   I told him I would love to but that I didn't have one.  He said uh yeah and I said uh no, this went on for a minute or so until I finally said, look I have one but I can't reach it look, LOOOOOK it is on the wall behind me.  I can barely move my lips to be telling you this, HOW AM I GOING TO REACH IT.  He finally got it, and apologized that it wasn't handed to me, which now that I am thinking, it may have been but a certain hubby that had been watching TV may have put it up on the hanger instead of on my bed.  Did you do that babe?  Did you?  Anyhow I asked the nurse for three things in this order, Drugs, Diet Pepsi, Food.  I got Vicodin, some lemon lime crap, I think Sierra Mist and some stupid graham crackers.  Also some water please.  Oh and is it hot to you, I am dying.  He agreed it was really hot and he would ask they turn the AC down a bit.  After that I slept.

I woke up around 1:30 or 2 and I was still sweating like a cow and my bed was wet.  Again I called the nurse.  I asked for a dry bed, drugs and food.  He helped me out of my bed and checked my cath to see if it was leaking, no it was just ass sweat.  He gave me drugs and more of those stupid crackers.  I guess I should mention that I had sneaked a few slim fast bars in just in case, cause I know how they starve you there.  However I couldn't really reach them with my cath in, I did eat one when Dave was still there to hand it to me, but lets face it when you haven't eaten in 18+ hours 200 calories isn't enough.  I knew I had another in my bag but I couldn't reach it and it was killing me.  The night was pretty much routine, drugs, drains, crackers.  I will spare you about the drains unless you want to ask me.  Finally thought it was morning which meant BREAKFAST.  Which I started asking for a 6.  Um, fat starving girl here food please.  First I had to see the doctors.  A whole team of them.  They came in at 7ish and removed my bandages and drains and cath and stuck me in my bra.  Pretty much my first course of action after this was to run to the bathroom, pee and look at my boobs. 

I stood there in front of the mirror, a little afraid of what I would see.  I had seen some after pictures online where in basically looked like someone beat the girl with a bat and stitched her up with a fish hook and fishing line.   Needless to say that I was terrified of what I would see, but I had to look.  So to opened my bra and.......

Finally after only a few days of waiting I got the call that I had insurance approval for the surgery.  OMG I couldn't believe it, not only that but they were booking appointments for early July and was sometime after the 10th good for me.  Uh that was freaking perfect.  So I again started calling and telling everyone and was just so happy I can still remember where I was when I got the call, cause you know 3 months ago was so long.  I was at my kids pediatrician's office where I spend a good deal of my time because my kids are walking diseases but that is another story.  So I start to patiently wait (read: call every four minutes) for my surgery date.  After I can't remember how long I started to panic that I didn't have a set date yet.  I started to look for different Dr's because I was irrational and freaked, even though I had originally been thinking that this wouldn't be happening till early fall anyways, suddenly I was dying to get a July date.  I was bitching to everyone I knew that my Dr took way too much time for this and blah blah blah.  Finally I got the call and the date was set.  I can't remember exact time frames but I think that in all I waited maybe two weeks.  Three tops one of which I was out of town on vacation.  The date was set for July 30th and was that acceptable.  Uh yeah that will be wonderful.  Date set all is good, now I can start to panic.

I really did have a fairly busy summer, for my standards at least.  We took a trip to Flagstaff for a week,  a week that would turn into vacation hell I might add.  Then I had my daughters birthday party, which was good except I decided to make her cake and really it was just sad looking.  Then I took the kids camping by myself for a week at the coast, my parents and siblings were there but Dave had to work.  After getting back from camping all I had to do was wait, wait and worry.  I think it was somewhere around July first I decided I would die during the operation.  I didn't tell anyone this until about 2 weeks pre-op so as not to ruin their time at the coast.  I started trying to cram in a ton of activities with my kids and family, since I would be dying soon and all.  I also started eating like a moose in heat, assuming that a moose in heat eats a lot, I know when I am on my period I eat a lot so it stands to reason I moose would too.  Anyways at some point I discovered Dryers chocolate peanut butter cup loaded ice cream along with Reese's peanut butter sauce ice cream topping.  So I gained roughly 10 pounds pre-op but to be honest it was probably closer to 15, since I didn't weigh myself till after surgery and I was up ten then. 

About a week before my surgery I wrote letters to my kids and my husband telling them how sorry I was that I died and that sort of thing.  I was that sure I was soon to be a corpse.  I stopped sleeping somewhere around three days pre-op and was just crabby.  I was nesting too.  Suddenly I just couldn't have surgery if my house wasn't clean.  You know for the wake to be held after my funeral I guess.  The day before my surgery I planned a full day of fun with the kids, mainly to keep my mind of my impending doom and to get in a few last priceless memories with my soon to be motherless kids.  Then it was time to drop them off at my moms and go home and panic.  I took a Valium before bed in hopes that I would sleep and I did sleep pretty good although I woke way to early.  We needed to leave here by 9:30 to get to the hospital by 11:00 for my surgery appt.  The actual surgery wasn't scheduled until 12:45 and I thought that I would be going nuts in that hour and 45 minute gap.  I woke up that morning and did a little more picking up.  Took a shower packed my bag and we were off.  We were in Dave's car which has no shocks BTW and I am pretty sure I didn't stop talking the entire way. 

When we got to the hospital we were totally lost, we got there with 30 minutes to spare, which we spent trying to find the entrance.  This place is a nightmare there are a million entrances and buildings and such.  I finally called from the car and they talked us in.  We get in to the info desk and she had to call around to find out where I was supposed to be and after going through the maze of hallways we found the surgery center.  We went to check in and were told to have a seat while the receptionist checked me in.  The nurse came out for me before the check-in was even finished and I was pretty thankful for that, because I would have chewed a hole in my face sitting there waiting.  I was let into a room filled with gurneys or beds or whatever you want to call them separated by curtains each with an I.V pole in front of it with the name of the patient on it.  There I was on a blank white paper was my name in sharpie.  I was given the gown, the be closed in the back which seemed odd considering they were working of the front but I did what I was told.  I was then assaulted by a medical team, who were all actually so very nice and calming.  They were all asking questions and sticking iv's in and taking temps and blood pressures and such.  Every minute someone would ask if the Dr had marked me yet and I would say no.  Dave sat there through it all not, passing out when the did the IV or anything.  He was awesome.  Then finally the Dr came to do the markings and Dave left to go get some work done.  He was told it would be a 3 to 4 hour surgery so he had time.  Last time he was told that was with the birth of my son and he had barely left for some food when the kid decided to make an escape attempt.  Anyways the Dr came to do the markings and this is just one of those times you get the stupid giggles, could have in part been the drugs in my IV too, but I found it all amusing and it kinda tickled.  I was really laughing pretty hard.  Then they stuck a mask on my face and I started to go down, not real down. The gas they were pumping through was really itchy, I kept taking the mask off to itch and the nurse said oh that is really itchy sorry...um figured that out thanks.  They took me into the O.R. and I remember asking, is this the O.R. or a storage closet, the nurse said I was funny, and that was it.  Fade To Black

Since I haven't really written much about the after reduction part of this saga yet, any readers unfamiliar with the story, assuming I have readers at all, don't know that at my first post op I was seriously scolded by the Dr, the nurse, my husband, my mom, sisters, friends, two message boards, my cats and a dust bunny that I had moved from under my bed for over doing it during my recovery.  I still stand by the defense that overdoing consisted of a few loads of laundry, 1 load of dishes in the dishwasher and sleeping on my side.  I didn't think it was that much.  I didn't even get any leeway for the fact that I was allergic to the tape that they put on my incisions therefore causing an oozy pussy rash.  However after the first post op I decided to go into total and complete lazy loaf of bread mode, removed all tape and started slathering my body with Neosporin every few hours.  Yesterday was my second post op visit I believe I mentioned that in my post.  I hoped for something good but pretty much expected the worst after the last visit.  Instead I was given the green light for most of my normal activities.  They said I should lay off the gym and such.  I was so happy I forgot to ask if I could wear normal bras and drive my car.  We had to go back in to ask about that, we would be me, my boobs and my friend Harmony, who I might add I had a blast with yesterday and hanging with her for the afternoon made me realize that I really miss hanging out with her and that when together our combined IQ's drop to that of a kiwi (the fruit, not the bird or the folks from NZ).  Anyhow we went back in to ask and I was asking about the driving and the nurse asked if I was still on vicodin, so I said yeah but I didn't mean driving high or anything.  Something like this and I now finally have a witness, this nurse didn't laugh or anything.  These people have no sense of humor what so ever.  Afterwards we went to Olive Garden and OMG did I eat like a cow.  Eventually this blog will probably be more about my fat ass then my saggy tits, so you'll be hearing about my eating a lot.  After lunch we headed home and I let Harmony feel my boobs.  Then I napped and then....THEN.  I got my kids back.  YEAH it wasn't quite the movie moment I had picture as my 20 month old is getting his molars and my 4 year old only wants her computer.  Other then that it was great and I am sooo freaking happy.  I will try to get back on track with the road to my reduction tomorrow, but I can promise nothing because now I can get up and do stuff....YAY

I thought that today I would take a step out of the past and talk a little about present day Audratown.  How About just a little bit about me in general.  Here is something that I can guarantee without fail will happen whenever I am in any way sick or hurt or laid up in general.  I will wake up one day think, man I feel 100% better today, I think I will do (insert something stupid here) After the birth of my daughter I was home maybe 2 days before I thought, hmmmm I need to go grocery shopping the pantry is sorta bare.  So I get my little girl all dressed pretty and into her car seat, I got myself dressed probably in pajamas and a dirty spit stained shirt.  I get her in the car and we are off to the grocery store.  I got the groceries and we are in the checkout, everyone is cooing over my little girl because lets admit, after the swelling in her face went down she was the most breathtaking child ever to be seen.  The question was asked Oh how old is he, because no matter how frilly you have your child dressed people will call her a boy and for that matter you can have your son dressed in a navy blue baseball outfit with little slugger written on it and they will tell you she is beautiful, again I am getting off course.  So I tell them she is 4 days and they all gasp that I am out and about so soon. I beam because obviously I am the most super healer in the world.  However I got home could barely move was totally exhausted and curled up and slept for a couple hours.  Thank God hubby took a couple weeks off work so that I could sleep.  How is this a story about the present you ask, hold your horses I am getting there.

So at my last post-op I expected my PS to tell me that I was of course the best healer he had ever met and that I was now cleared to live a normal not restricted to bed, kids back at the home can vacuum the house again and have my beloved car back life.  However I was instead told I wasn't healing well and that I needed to take it easier keep my flat ass in bed stop trying to do housework.  Honestly I hadn't done much more then some dishes and laundry but apparently that was too much.   So for the last week I have done little more then eat and get larger. 

Today however, today is my next post op, I woke up feeling great this morning.  I didn't even need to take a pill.  I decided to move my little nest out of the bedroom and into the family room where there is satellite and the big TV.  Then I threw my shirt, just the one I swear, into the washer so that I have something clean to wear.  I was thinking, man after my appointment today when the Dr tells me that I am cleared to live a normal life again and vacuum and do some dishes, I can go by my mom's and get my babies.  This is the point at which I realized I was completely worn out and sorta hurting.  From doing nothing more then taking a laptop out to the family room feeding Outside Kitty and throwing a shirt in the washer.  1 shirt I swear that is all.  My point here?  I really don't know, see before I logged into said carried out laptop I took a Vicodin that I now realized that I needed because I was tired from doing almost nothing.   So that is it, that is my present day story, I am an ass.  betcha didn't need the three paragraphs to know that, but now you know that I am an ass and a long winded one at that see you learn something new everyday.  Next post I will get back to the riveting drama of waiting for insurance approval and all that.  Wish me luck at my appointment today.  I really do want to get back to sorta normal.

You know, I can't remember if every word in a title is supposed to be capitalized so if its not, excuse my titles please.  They may vary greatly from title to title.  That is off the subject though.

So I start waiting for insurance approval. I was also told right from the start that if approved I was looking at a late summer early fall surgery date, and I explained at the time that, that was fine since I had a pretty busy schedule through July.  The Dr was relieved cause apparently alot of people go in and expect a surgery date within a week or two.  Thing the Dr forgot to mention was that he was out on vacation most of August and July and that there was a stack of people waiting for appointments.  Again at the time that wasn't really a big deal because I had figured that since it took me a month and half just to get a consult with the man that a surgery date would take even longer.  Come the end of April I received a notice from my Insurance that my request for a plastic surgery visit had been approved and that I should hear from my Dr within 2 weeks.  So I did the rational thing and called everyone I knew and told them I was approved for surgery and posted on my message boards that I had been approved for surgery and start telling strangers on the street and small animals and anyone else in the world who will listen.  Then I call my PS office and tell them I had received a notice that my surgery was approved and what is next. Hmmm says the coordinator, that can't be surgery approval because she hadn't even submitted for it yet, and perhaps it was just a mix up at the insurance company re-approving for the original PS consult.  At this news my excitement deflated much like I wanted my boobs too.  Remember how I mentioned earlier about that mole removal thing?  Yeah that was what that approval was for, but I wouldn't find that out for another week or so.  Since the coordinator had me on the phone she told me that she was missing some things out of my file and asked for the previous records regarding pain and suffering from other doctors.  Well I had always known that all my back pain and such was caused by my boobs so I never really saw a Dr about it, I also knew the only solution was a reduction and there was that whole, couldn't afford thing so you can see where this is going.  I had no real records short of from my chiropractor.  Who when I called was at least kind enough to alter his notes to state he recommended a breast reduction to alleviate my pain and I had been seeing him since I was pregnant with my first child so there were at least a few years of records for that.  I was told to that once she received those records she would submit for approval and I would hear back soon, that it usually only took a few days with my particular insurance company.  So again I started to wait.

Since I am laying here in bed the continuing is happening sooner rather then later.  LUCKY YOU.  So anyways, in retrospect the journey from beginning to end wasn't very long, especially after waiting 29 freaking years to get it done in the first place.  Okay, maybe only 19 years, thankfully I wasn't born with these suckers.  So I called my insurance to find out if they in fact covered breast reduction an low and behold they did.  So then I made an appointment with my general practitioner.  Thankfully that appointment didn't take long, I think that they scheduled if for maybe a day or so after I called.  I saw him and started talking to him about a breast reduction, now normally I am not terribly shy about my breasts however, I had already embarrassed myself with this Dr before, the details of which I will spare you in case my mom, brother, dad or anyone else who would kill themselves if they knew what it was might read this.  Anyhow, back to my point, I was kinda of embarrassed telling him why I wanted this done and was almost stupid giggly.  The kind of nervous giggle you can only develop at the worst time, like in funerals or other inappropriate moments.  He finally gave me a break and just told me he would refer me to a plastic surgeon (herein known as PS).  So I was giddy and called my husband who was very not excited about it.  Not because he is an ass but because he was afraid I would get my hopes up and then get them dashed.  Then I waited for the call from the PS's office.  This took about 15 years, or roughly two weeks in normal time.  Time I spent calling the general practitioner's office just to confirm that a referral was indeed sent.  Finally I got the call around the end of February and Oh wasn't I lucky they had an opening April 17th.  I almost died on the phone.  I couldn't believe I would have to wait 2 months which really was more like a month and a half, but I am prone to dramatics.  During this time I was also seeing a Dermatologist to get some unsightly moles taken off, this will become important later in this story.

When April 17th arrived I was so excited and nervous.  I was so hoping that the PS would say he considered it a medical necessity and so afraid my insurance company wouldn't agree with him.  I got to the appointment about an hour early and so as not to look like a total nut, sat in my car reading until about 20 minutes before my appointment.  I went in and signed in and was given a 400 page questionnaire asking everything from if I smoked, drank, had unprotected sex with multiple partners while doing lines of coke of hookers bellies to how many times I had a stuffy nose in second grade and for that matter who was my second grade teacher and did she smoke or drink.  I filled all that all out nervously as if I answered a question wrong I would be thrown out immediately and told never to return.  I am pretty sure at this point I had visible pit stains on my shirt from sweating so profusely over that form, and this isn't an office they keep warm, I am sure they have pet polar bears in the back that they are trying to keep cool.  After the forms were filled out I amused myself by trying to guess who was there for what procedure.  I am sure everyone thought I was there to have the sweat glands removed from my armpits...I wonder if that is possible and hmm would insurance cover that too??

When I was called back to the exam room I was trying really hard to not seem like I was as nervous as I was and I am pretty sure I made some of the stupidest jokes in the history of jokes (see this is an example of how I love to exaggerate).  For the first part the nurse did the regular Dr appointment stuff, temp, blood pressure, pulse.  Then she started to verify all the answers on the questionnaire.   I was getting nervous again, were they checking to make sure I  would answer the same when asked again.  I soon found out, this is just what they do, they ask you the same question 9 million times.  I think its a game.  Finally she was done and gave me the gown to put on and left.  When the Dr came in I was so ready to whip my boobs out, but I was good and waited until asked.  I find that whenever I am in a room alone with a guy with no shirt on, eventually they want to see my boobs...kidding...kinda.  So he runs through the same set of questions and I am wondering if they are going to verify them with the FBI when I leave.  He finishes that and then the fun begins.  He calls his nurse in then asks for me to open my gown.  He has me lay back and he flops them around, he has me sit up and he flops them around, he has me stand and he flops them around.  You get the picture.  Then he asks what I would hope to achieve from a breast reduction.  I tell him that I would like them to be smaller, my nipples to not point at my feet and for my breasts to not be so flappy and pancakey.  Yes I said flappy and pancankey.  It really was the best description of them.  So he says that, those are good expectations and goes on to show me what the surgery would entail.  Then he pulls out this ruler thing and a tape measure and starts measuring distances and then he draws a new nipple where my new nipple would be and explains that they wont be round boobs like a fake boob would but they will be higher and perkier and not pancakey, then makes sure I know that I used the word first.  I am still not sure if he has a sense of humor or not.  Then he tells me he needs pictures and pulls a camera out of his pocket.  I tell him that I had better not see these on the internet, no putting them on hot or not.  Totally kidding of course and he was all, "Oh my goodness no, I need these to send to the insurance company"  So I explained I was kidding and let the poor guy off the hook.  He went through all the possible side effects and that was the end of the appointment.  Now all I could do was wait for insurance approval.

More to come later.