Late summer 2009 I moved from AZ to CA. My immediate family is all still there. Jumping around- I had my left saline implant leak just over the 10 year mark. I researched surgeons and chose one in HB. He offered me the option of doing my “easy” redo under a local block, which I chose (with the idea of it being a quicker recovery). The day of surgery, I was nervous. They put me almost totally nude on the ice cold table, put the blue sheet in front of my face. Prepped my chest with ice cold betadine. I was shivering so uncontrollably, my teeth were chattering. They injected my breasts with lidocaine. A needle through my nipple. Eff! As soon as he cuts the left, he tells me I have so much scar tissue and that’s what caused my implant to leak. A capsular contracture. “I should have known” he said repeatedly. No anesthesiologist on staff, I’m wide awake and continually poked with needles to stay blocked (all the while he’s telling me the 22g needle is bending bc of how thick the scar tissue is). He attempts to cut away the scar tissue. Fuck my life, OW! Then he can’t control the bleeding so he tried the next thing-electro cautery. This fool tried to burn the tissue inside my breast WHILE IM AWAKE. I proceeded to tell him to stop and do whatever he needed to get me off the table. I didn’t care anymore. I should have been on that table for 30 mins, it was 2 hours. He finished but before closing, he sits me up on the table (I’m telling my nurse im going to vomit), makes me look in a mirror and tell him they look good and I’m happy. As I’m looking at the tubes hanging out of my areolar incision,the tubes connected to the implant that fills it with saline, my soft tissue spilling out out….I just didn’t care, I wanted outa there, I would have barked like a seal if he asked me to. The nurse helps me off the table, puts me in a room by myself to get dressed. I couldn’t even stand upright. Sends me to climb 10 stairs (although there’s an elevator) to my friend who’s waiting for me to take me home. When she saw me she panicked, knowing something was horribly wrong. Needless to say a horrifyingly traumatic experience. I couldn’t speak, just said get me out. I took a Xanax, got home and went to fill my rx for Vicodin and while I was waiting, I felt the nausea take over my body. She got me home barely in time, I puked violently and everywhere. She had to leave, but tucked me in with a trash can and rag. My body was releasing the stress and tension, I puked so violently, my neighbor across the way and 3 doors down came to check on me.

I went for my follow up the next day, feeling better. He was happy with his work, told me my scar tissue would fix itself over time. I believed him. 

Now, here I am, a little over 2 years later, the pain and discomfort only getting worse, and my left breast is hard and distorted. I’ve researched surgeons in LA, sent out an email with basic inquiries to a very prominent media popular Dr, his liaison asked me to send some photos, to which I assumed would be ignored and a request be made for me to come in for consult. She responded with an estimate for recommended procedures, without so much as looking at my breasts in person or discussing my concerns. Talk about feeling like a number!  
I assumed this procedure would not be as easy recovery for me so I debated selecting a surgeon in Tucson, for ease of after care. I found 1 who talked about how he specializes in reconstruction, his reviews are fantastic. I send the email, inquiring about how tolerant would they be of me being in another state. Liaison responded, I called to discuss with her my issues, we agreed I would send her photos. The Dr emailed me back the next day, requested I come in for a consult. I made my appointment, arranged to rent a car. I was up at 5a yesterday, worked out, picked up my rental, went and worked 10 hours, hopped in my badass Honda Odyssey right after I punched out at 10p and drove to Tucson. Got in at 5am, laid down for a couple hours, went and surprised my nieces (1 I hadn’t seen in 4 years), had breakfast with my Ma and went to my consult. He was awesome, I was his last appt of the day, he didn’t rush or look at the clock, he sat with me for an hour, explained all my options thoroughly, answered my questions, took measurements and photos. He didn’t try to influence me in any direction or pressure me. Matter of fact he encouraged me to take time and think about it. 

I was right about how complicated the procedure is going to be, and I didn’t ask about recovery times or how long it would be before I could pick up a weight. 

An den….the quote for cost. Soooo…I’m currently seeking a sugar daddy (or mama).
I tell this story here because it affects me mentally. As a woman with muscle, I get compliments every day. But also shitty remarks about how those muscles lack femininity. How does a woman identify with herself when such a huge part of what makes her a woman is compromised?   Thoughts on my mind on my way back to LA, me and the almost empty I10 late at night.  

 👆 that photo isn’t filtered or edited, btw. I turn grey when I’m sleep deprived.