Friday, August 14, 2015

Why I Had a Breast Reduction (Hint: Big Boobs Can Be A Curse)

Our society values big boobs. It's just a fact. Young girls often can't wait for their titties to arrive, and sometimes when they don't they pay exorbitant amounts of money to have some falsies stuffed in there.

I have very large breasts. Remember that the rest of what follows is from the perspective of someone with double-Ds.

Why you do dis to me, boobies?

Evolutionarily speaking, men decided that women should have big boobs. This isn't some raging feminist opinion, it's science! If you look at the other apes you'll notice the females don't have D cups swinging around once they mature sexually. They pretty much just have nipples to feed their young. That's all that's actually required.

So why do human beings break the mold in this department? Let me explain in crude I'm-Not-A-Scientist terms.

For most of our history, we were having sex doggy-style. Or rather ape-style. From behind. You get the idea. Males fornicated and procreated staring down the back end of their partner. As we started to walk upright, and thus have sex facing each other, males began favoring the females with bigger breasts. Why? Because of the visual similarity to the mounds of butt cheeks they'd been making it with for millennia. Females with bigger breasts had the procreative advantage. Males (although not picky in general) were selecting big tatas, and so the genes propagated more often.

In simplest terms, human men have genetically modified women over time to have ridiculously big breasts. Ridiculous in comparison to all other species who nurse their young.

(Men, don't get too angry. Human women have also been selecting men for bigger penises. Check out a gorilla sometime. Their weewees are teeny-weenie relative to body size. You, as human males, are the exception to the ape-rule. You're welcome.)

Why the grass is not greener on the busty side

Personally, I matured later than my friends. At first I was upset, like any young girl, that I was losing the rack-race. And then all of a sudden,  HOLY SHITBALLS, I was a double D at age 15. Although girls are usually looking forward to the arrival of their boobies, the following is NEVER what they have in mind.

They hurt when they're growing

While my boobs were coming in, left and right at uneven paces I might add, I experienced a phenomenon called "breast buds," or at least that's what my family doctor called them. I had hard lumps behind my nipples that were aching and tender and were generally a huge pain. If I remember correctly (I ain't googling), it was the tissue of my future breast being born in a concentrated wad that would eventually blossom outwards and even out.

They did in fact mellow out and even out over time, but that was just one more part of puberty that sucked. As if females didn't have enough crappy things to deal with

Zero aesthetic appeal

Most 14-15 year olds haven't even heard of stretch marks, but before my sweet sixteen I was already well versed in the art of being ashamed of my body. The stretch marks were numerous, they were dark purple in colour, and they were covering an area of my body that, although I was young, I knew was supposed to be sexually appealing. These scars all over my brand new body parts were anything but pretty.

My mother took me to the pharmacy to buy vitamin E oil, which I slathered on every night before bed, but it didn't do a damn thing. As anyone who's ever had a baby knows, stretch marks can be prevented and minimized by keeping skin moisturized with oils and such, but you're pretty much fucked once they arrive.

Because of the enormous size of these new mounds of flesh, the skin stretched, and so did the nipples. This stretching caused the pigmentation to be affected. They had no colour whatsoever. It was like not having nipples at all, just pointy things. Pointing down, I might add.

Clothing is a nightmare 

I went to a Catholic high school where we wore uniforms. If I chose the white polo shirt, it had to be of a size that draped over me like a tarp and made me look fifty pounds heavier than I was. If I chose the button up shirt, same deal. If I wore the size that fit my arms and waist, the buttons were desperately pulling apart, and a few times even popped right off. There were several times where I caught people (both boys and girls) looking into the keyhole of my open shirt, right at my boobs. Undershirts became a necessity.

My mother, bless her, used her meager sewing skills to re-position the buttons for me on my shirts so that I could wear the correct size without spilling out.

On the rare dress-down day I could wear the same outfit as a fellow B-cup student, but be told I was violating dress code. Basically, I looked provocative in absolutely everything except a turtle neck. And even then. You can't hide 'em when they're that size.

Don't get me started on swimwear. I looked like a hussy in a two-piece, I would be bursting out and getting all kinds of stares, from both men and women. Even in a one-piece I was bulging because, let's face it, bathing suits aren't designed to really cover you up. As if teenage girls don't have enough to feel self-conscious about.

And I know some people will say they were just as self-conscious because they had no tits at all at that age, but I'm telling you - it is ABSOLUTELY not the same thing. If you were flat-or-small-chested you weren't spilling out of your suit. People weren't gaping at you and making comments about your body and telling you to cover it up. Basically your lack of boobs made pretty damn sure you weren't noticed. Which, trust me, is preferable to being noticed at that age, for that reason.

If you had no boobs or small boobs as a teenager you weren't humiliated at the pretty bra store when the saleswoman went into the back to try to dig out your mutant size, then came back to tell you that they don't actually carry it. If you had no boobs, you could fake them in a variety of ways. If, like me, you had huge boobs, you just couldn't hide them.

Christina Ricci in Now and Then totally got me. You bind those suckers, girl! Fuck 'em!

Unwanted attention from boys, and grown men alike (hell, women too)

In grade 10 drama I was stuck with a class full of boys who had taken the course thinking it was bullshit and it would be easy. I took it because I was a theatre nerd. I was the only female.

The teacher made us play a murder mystery type game wherein she turned off all the lights at one point. I can't remember the objective, just that it was totally dark.

I'll never forget the day when the lights went out and a grubby teenaged hand came out of nowhere and squeezed my breast. I swatted around trying to land a punch to no avail. The lights came on and I let fly my rage. The teacher was sympathetic and I demanded to know who had done it. Of course nobody fessed up.

The incident was reported to the main office. The administration put on a show of interviewing each boy. After they all said it wasn't me, guess what happened? Fuck all. No suspensions, no lecture about sexual assault, no repercussions whatsoever. Because boys will be boys and we all know they turn into drooling mindless idiots around big boobs and their actions can't be helped, or taken too seriously for that matter.

I recently ran into a classmate who was there that day and he reminded me of it. He said it still bothered him and he had always suspected one guy in particular. I was genuinely touched that after ten years he still felt bad about the way his peers had treated me. I was also a little embarrassed that my teenage boobs had lived on in his memory.

One dress-down day I was wearing a t-shirt. Not a v-neck, not a crop top, nothing scandalous. It fit me like a shirt should fit me. But that doesn't hide huge boobs. I remember one guy passing me in the hallway, blatantly staring at my chest and announcing "Holy shit, she's stacked!" I immediately put on a sweatshirt that I had in my locker. In June. That phrase has been burned into my brain ever since.

I remember a social function I attended with my family where an old creepy man was starting at my breasts and making mumbled comments to his buddy. I was totally oblivious but my father was not. Although my dad didn't confront the man (who probably thought I was 22 years old based on my chest size, not 15), he was very uncomfortable and kept trying to shepherd me away. My mother told me about my dad's discomfort years later. My underage tits affected more than just me.

One time I went to the movies with my first real boyfriend. The layout of this cinema involved buying your ticket on the main floor and ascending a set of stairs to reach the screens. We raced up the stairs, laughing and pushing each other. A grown-ass woman employee, a managerial type, was standing at the top of the staircase watching us ascend.

"Whooaaa," she yelped as I reached the top. "Careful now, or you'll bounce right out of your top!"

I was so absolutely stunned that I said nothing and we went to see our movie. I cried the whole time. My boyfriend later called the theatre to lodge a formal complaint. I was too embarrassed to do so myself. The woman then called me to apologize. Her excuse? She was "just looking out for me, girl to girl." Fuck you, lady. Drawing attention to someone's body for no reason is not looking out. I was given two free movie tickets. Gee thanks. That totally erases the psychological damage from the brain of a 16 year old.

Living with them is a literal pain

My breasts were probably in the E-F cup range by the time I was 16 years old and, although I wasn't stick-thin, I wasn't obsese and therefore they weren't in proportion to my form at all. They were so big that gravity had taken hold and was dragging them to the ground. Yes, they were pretty much brand new boobs that sagged. It was like skipping several decades of my life, jumping right to the end where I had gross pancakes.
Because of the sag, I pretty much had two extra armpits. I had to wear antiperspirant under each breast in an attempt to curb the sweating.

I had to wear at least two bras every day. I wore my mutant-sized ugly granny wonder bra, and a sports bra on top of that to try to bind them down a little.

My shoulders and back hurt all the time. My part time job as a cashier was miserable because standing up for more than one hour was agony. My shoulder muscles pulled and burned and ached. The extra weight on my body even made my feet hurt. Holding my upper body upright was a lot of work, so my posture was bad. This in turn made my whole body sore.

To this day I have indents in my shoulder blades because of the excessive weight pulling down the bra straps for several years.

I was 15 when I knew I wanted and NEEDED a breast reduction. Unfortunately (but for good reason) doctors won't perform this surgery until you're finished puberty. No sense chopping them off if they're not even done growing yet!

The Operation

I was 18 and finally ready (and medically approved for) a breast reduction. Part of the process was having my breasts measured. I was told one of the determining factors is the sag. No word of a lie.

They actually measured the overlap where my breasts sagged down onto my waist, basically how much skin on skin contact is happening. If you reach a certain measurement, you qualify. And in Canada, that means it's deemed medically necessary (not just cosmetic) and therefore it's paid for by our national coverage. SOCIALISTS!

The operation's procedure itself (don't google images if you're considering having it done) is a messy mess and quite terrifying. Your breast is essentially exploded open on the operating table, trimmed down, and reassembled. The nipple, which is not entirely removed, is lifted into a position much higher up.

The literal trimming of the fat and skin, meant that a lot of my stretch marks were physically chopped away. Hoorah! My surgeon assured me that the colour in my nipples would return to normal after a few years. And it has. Huzzah for coloured nipples! Don't laugh. You don't realize how important that is unless you don't have it. It makes you feel like a weird mannequin that isn't quite anatomically correct.

The surgeon removed four pounds total. FOUR. POUNDS. Don't think that sounds like a lot? Go to the store and buy four sticks of butter, a pound a piece. String them onto a rope and wear them around your neck all day. You'll be annoyed. Trust me.

As invasive as the procedure sounds, it's actually just day surgery. I woke up in recovery in very minor pain (kinda felt like bad bruises) sat around chilling for a few hours, and then the nurse came to get me in the wheelchair and get my ass outta there. They had told me to bring a zip-up hoodie for the ride home. It had to be zip-up because I wouldn't be able to lift my arms high enough to wear a pullover.

I remember as clear as day when the nurse did up the zipper, easily, smoothly. I hadn't worn that hoodie in years because my humungo boobs wouldn't allow it. I was just too girthy. But not anymore. That was the first time I cried of relief.

The second time I cried of relief was a month later when I tried on a pretty bra from the pretty bra store. C-cup. I looked at my breasts and thought "they're actually nice." They were cradled wonderfully in a lovely pink embroidered frilly thing, instead of a custom ordered white clinical looking thing. Waterworks.

The third time I cried with relief was six months later while brushing my hair. One of my nipples had sensation immediately after the surgery. The other was totally numb. I was told it was 50/50. It might come back from the dead, or it might not. I dragged the bristle brush through my hair which was draped over my chest. I had gotten used to being numb so I was reckless. The wire bristles assaulted my nipple and I almost hit the roof in pain. OOOUUUCHHH YAAAAAYYY I CAN FEEL MY NIPPLE! Tears.

Post-Op

Although I'm left with what they call "anchor scarring," partial numbness on the underside of my breasts, and the slight possibility that I won't be able to breastfeed (me no want babies anyway), I believe this was the best decision I ever made. My emotional and physical comfort outweighs all of those things.

I've gone from the post-op C-cup to a D or double-D (depending on the store) due to a bit of weight gain, but my breasts are in proportion to my body now, and they are nice and perky due to a part of the procedure which uses my own bodily tissues to create an inner flesh bra of sorts. That sounded way grosser than I intended it.

Ahoy maties! Here we have the anchor scar. Arrrr!
Standing up for periods of time no longer hurts. One bra is enough for any situation. I don't have four pits in which to apply deoderant anymore.

My self-esteem skyrocketed after the procedure and although I still have body issues, my breasts are not the problem they used to be. Most of my sexual escapades occurred after the reduction (only one man has the distinction of having seen them pre-op, and trust me - taking off my shirt the first time was a REAL hurdle), and no man has ever noticed the scars, or at least no man has cared enough to say a word about it. In fact, I tend to always end up with "boob men" who have nothing but love and compliments for them.

I know this isn't an oft-discussed topic, but just in case you were ever thinking of shaming someone who has had a breast reduction, please.... fucking don't. Superbad would have us think that breast reduction was like "slapping God in the face." But that's just nonsense. When us ladies hack off our boobs, there are a bazillion legitimate reasons to do so that don't involve us trying to take away something you love. You men are but one one of the many reasons, so watch what you do and say to the busty young ladies out there. Your attention is usually unwanted in that area.

But mostly we're in pain, physically as well as emotionally. It's a huge burden that we literally carry around with us every day, and unless you're hauling around a giant heavy penis (that people can see and comment on), you just can't relate. If you are, I'm really sorry because I don't think there's a surgery for that, unless Waiting for Guffman was right.  

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1 comment:

  1. its so true, this is not the only post that says that big boobs make women suffer, i have another article for you where are 9 reasons that small boobs are better https://kovla.com/blog/9-reasons-why-small-boobs-are-better-than-big-that-are-undersized/ enjoy!

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