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November 23, 2006

Giving Thanks . . . In 2 Sizes

by Nancy                                                        

Last year at this time, I gave thanks that I didn't have breast cancer after a zillion trips to the Imaging Departments (what a charming euphemism!) at two local hospitals, plus plenty of poking, prodding, needles and so much squishing that I didn't eat pancakes for months. Although it was good news in the end, I did, however, need some surgery to remove stuff that might cause problems in the future.

The surgery left me---and I feel I can say this openly only because it's Thanksgiving and I'm counting on our male audience watching football and if they're not, they'd better pretend because they're gentlemen--it left me lopsided.

"You should have reconstruction!" everyone cheerfully told me.

So, at the ripe age of no-way-I'm-telling-even-if-it's-Thanksgiving, I found myself considering breast implants.  No, correction: Breast implant, singular.                     

Because I only needed it on one side. The other side remined healthy and plump--plenty of plump!--and still, uh, relatively youthful. But the operated-on side looked kind of deflated.  Not National Geographic deflated, but a little, you know, disappointing.

"It should fill in with fluid," the surgeon said before he closed my chart and sent me on my way. Good thing he didn't promise, because I'd be collecting on that malpractice insurance of his and thumbing through the real estate section in a warm zip code.

The breast implant procedure looked pretty simple at first. (Admit it, ladies.  Who among us hasn't watched at least one episode of that Beverly Hills plastic surgeon guy who loves exotic dancers so much?)  Pick a size, the flirty doc pops it in, you wear a bra around the clock for a little while and--poof!--your rack is back.

Emboldened, I did a little more Googling.

Health issues aside--because really, once you're seriously considering "breast augmentation," you're pretty much brain dead when it comes to warning labels--I decided saline implants were a little . . . jiggly.  They're too liquid, you see. So when you walk, your breast/breasts tend to bounce like Jello salad in Bill Cosby's picnic basket. Which is okay when you're 22.  (If I'd known my body was going to turn out the way it did, I would have made much better use of the 22-year-old version, let me tell you.) But 30 years later, you want the bounce in your step, not your boob(s).

Recently, I heard silicone implants made a comeback (after being outlawed by the FDA or something because a few fussy customers were whining about some minor thing called auto-immune disorders) and I started getting interested again.

Until I saw The Operation.  Video footage of a surgeon who sliced open the underside of a woman's breast, reached inside and started scooping out great handfuls of glop. The silicone casing had ruptured (a word that should be reserved for fuel lines, not the insides of a human body) and the goop had leaked. Like The Blob, it oozed. It was worse than any slime you can imagine--sticky and yellow and disgusting. You could almost smell how disgusting. Here are some photos, but I'm warning you now, they're not to be viewed with a tummy full of pumpkin pie.

You can rupture your implants in a car accident, by falling off a horse, hitting the handlebars of your Harley-Davidson, rough sex (which I'm not commenting on because my daughters sometimes skip their second slice of pie) and other kinds of trauma that are easy to imagine, especially if you're a writer.

Plus, I realized when I got to the really important piece of information, inserting one breast implant was only going to make the plump one look less than wonderful.

But a double breast implant? At my age? I mean, I'm not planning on working with a pole and pasties anytime soon, so what do I need with a set of honking big hooters? Does my husband even notice? (He doesn't see that I get my hair cut every couple of months or when I wash my car or when I re-paint the living room.) And anyway, we've reached the stage when the lights are off most of the time, if you know what I mean.

Yeah, I sometimes feel silly with one side bigger than the other.  (We do enjoy the beach on Aruba.) But I think I'd feel a lot sillier with a pair of perky 38DDs at my stage of life.

Plus I hear it's tricky to get a decent mammogram with implants in the way. The silicone is "radiopaque" which means it blocks the mammography X-ray beam.

So . . . nope, no implants for me. I'm going to invest in what's called the cutlet and keep the lights off at crucial times. And I'm just going to give thanks for what I have.



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Nancy, what counts is that you're okay.

Speaking as a Guy, I'd be willing to bet your husband would rank this so low on the list it's not worth it. What's important is you're still around. Trust me on that.

(who's not even going to crack a single joke this time)

What, not even the "peekaboo pole-dancing toy"? http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/news.html?in_article_id=412195&in_page_id=17

But seriously, being here is all that matters. I suspect even the football-watching, breast-watching men would count that as what's important.

Boy, you two are up bright and early on a holiday! William, I appreciate your discretion.

Laura, I am surprised Wal-Mart doesn't carry that kit in their Christmas toy section. Thanks for the link.--It's a hoot.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

So...er....um....will the Dolphins beat the Lions today?

Nance, your rack looks pretty darn good in all those cute little clothes you wear. No need for any quote-unquote improvements.

I'm off for about fourteen hours of kitchen work, with the help of my dear friend mimosa. Happy Thanksgiving, all!

Nancy wrote;

I mean, I'm not planning on working with a pole and pasties anytime soon....

Aw Heck Nancy,
I was looking forward to that display!

All kidding aside,
if you wish to do more fact finding on the subject, visit Dr. William at http://www.adams-center.com/.
full disclosure, bill is my brother-in-law.

If William won't crack a boob joke, I won't crack a Bond one.

I'm thankful for the new friends I've met and bonded with (ha! gotcha!) here at TLC over the past months.

And now, everyone, it's Mimosa time! Happy Thanksgiving.

My daughter only nurses on one side, so I am very lopsided, one sides a D and one is a DD (aka Lefty). It seems that I am really the only that notices the difference, unless I flash someone to prove my point. The big thing, as previously mentioned, is that you are here.

I had a last minute black tie event last weekend where I wore a backless dress that predated kids and was initially worn braless. That could not happen with the current state of affairs, so I made a trip to the specialty bra shop. That was an experience, take a number, strip, they look at you and know your size. Wow.

They sent me home with a solution that did not work, so my husband got major straight and/or pageant points by helping me packing tape myself into the outfit.

Eat, drink and be thankful today that our women are still here with us, no matter what shape or size.

And raise a glass and a prayer for those of our women who are not here - and for their families who are facing the holidays without them.

Too early to start the Mimosas for me - I need to be sharp for the Turkey Bowl - my nieces and nephew gets bigger and stronger every year! This has a domino effect, since the grown-ups no longer hold back as much. Lucky for me I have lots of natural padding!

"Pageant points!" Is that a Wikipedia phrase? I just want to know, Cheryl, who helped you take that packing tape *off?* Yeeow!!

Making mimosas now....

Nancy, few women are smart enough to tie in breast implants with pumpkin pie. I'm proud to be your blog sister.

I can't top (or likely even equal) any of these sentiments, so I'll just echo them. Thanks to all of you for being here and who you are. And happy day to everyone!

Pageant points is just one of those family terms and I think that the wine at the function facilitated the tape removal. Not as bad as expected, though I don't think that I will do it again. A slight non-sequitor, Little Miss Sunshine is a hysterical movie about pageants and family.

My first Old Fashioned is being made as I type. Happy Thanksgiving, I am so glad that I found this community.

Since people tend not to go back a day, this probably won't be read by many, but here goes: I have to think that if this silicone stuff were intended for use on men's bodies, the FDA would not have re-legalized it.

Just saying.

Hey, Josh -- I agree.

Josh - you got it.

I was clicking around one day about a year ago and I saw one of those medical shows - it was on male implants.

Pecs, bums, calf muscles? Bizarre but inevitable, I guess.

I really enjoyed reading this post Nancy - and the ruptured implant link you've included is just awful! It really makes you think.

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