More lies about boobs: the lies we tell ourselves

Well, while we are on the subject of boobs… as I think we might be on quite often, I had another story to share. It’s a personal one. But you don’t know me. Yet. Really. Ever.

Once pollination occurred (see posts earlier) and damage was done, I suppose I lived largely in denial of the largely. And the saggy. Not really sure how I did that. It’s this way you can look at yourself in a mirror and squint. Do you ever do that? Very tricky.

I was, however, quite obsessed with some bad scar from my c-section. I went again and again to plastic surgeons for consultations on how I could get rid of this without surgery. I expected Houdini. (One surgeon did emerge for his consult from behind a cape. That’s another story for another post actually!) They all looked at me like I was nuts which in retrospect was about why I was so worried about this scar when I was dealing with the deflated sacs. In most of these appointments I was forced to have photos taken in three angles so the surgeon could better see my dilemma. Oye that is humiliation. Can’t we all just peak really fast under this drape?????

On one occasion, the doctor was away dealing with a bad divorce (should that concern me?) so I met with this really attractive female surgery consultant/nurse. I think her job is basically to look so good she either scares you into getting surgery or somehow psychologically convinces you that if you us this surgeon by some strange cosmic osmosis you will look as good as she does. In this case as I talked, hot nurse was looking down and taking notes. Hopefully not on what I was saying.

“You see I am not the kind of gal who would EVER have or EVER need plastic surgery. No sir. Not me. Don’t need it. Never did. Always had boobs. Blah blah blah…..”. All judgmental of me….

She never looked up…. I got more determined to convince her of my position on the subject. After all, we share our natural beauty, right? Not. Again, I am just nervous so chat chat chatty away…

I look up on this computerized power point style slide show of some really bad ass National Geographic type boobs on a screen in front of me. Yuck..

“Now, you see if I looked like that girl…I mean up on the screen, that girl…well, shit man….(insert sarcastic snort). If I were here I would be running to have that shit fixed.”

She finally looked right up at me and smiled ever so gently and said:

“Uh, that girl….that girl there…..that’s you”

That was a moment of reckoning where I knew I was in strong and scary denial.

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