The Booby Trap and Other Bits and Boobs Read online

  I had no such concerns as a pre-teen, as I had no jumper bumps. I didn’t even have a ripple. I was so flat-chested well into my teenage years that the boys at school composed a special remix of the theme tune to the popular sci-fi cartoon Ulysses, altering the lyrics to reflect my lack of boobage, resulting in ‘Vertices, vertices, floating through all the galaxies’ being sung at volume into my face.

  As my friends blossomed around me, blooming into womanly shapes, I remained twig-like. If I’d had the chance to hook up with Zoltar, like Tom Hanks in Big, my wish wouldn’t have been to be big, but to be booby, which I suppose would’ve made for a different kind of movie all together.

  My prayers to Norksella, the goddess of breasts, were answered abruptly around my fifteenth birthday. It’s as if Mother Nature had totally forgotten about me so gave me double helpings to compensate.

  Now, after so much yearning, I found myself with quite sizeable funbags, which over the years have been varying degrees of fun. I could suddenly get into clubs and bars as doormen were too mesmerised by my DDs to worry about my ID.

  During my illustrious modelling career I was sent to South Korea as ‘Your chest is too big for Tokyo’, like my wabs were Godzilla and could overrun the city.

  Pregnancies saw them inflate to the size of two Smart cars and breastfeeding was almost impossible.

  They’ve been pushed up, flattened down, hoisted skywards and sometimes I’ve woken up to find one under my armpit and the other over my shoulder, but they’re my boobs and I’ve grown to love them.

  I guess the moral of this tale is be careful what you wish for, ’cos if you get it, bikini shopping is a bugger.

  Diary of a Boob Job

  JAMES DAWSON

  1 DAY PRE-OP

  Hi everyone, my name is Becca Hayes. I’m twenty years old and I live in South London. I work in recruitment but that’s really boring, you don’t need to know about that. Basically, the thing is, I’m having a boob job – a breast enlargement – tomorrow, and I thought it’d be really good for all you ladies out there, who are thinking about having one, to blog about it. I know when I was researching the op, I had, like, a million questions, so I hope this is helpful!

  OK, here goes! Writing this is good because it’s taking my mind off tomorrow morning. I’m not gonna lie, I’m properly shitting myself. Seriously, my hands are actually shaking while I type. I feel really sick, but that might be because I’ve not had anything to eat since lunch – I have to be nil-by-mouth for tomorrow. Leaving a Kinder Bueno in the fridge was a big mistake HA!

  I was really excited up until about ten minutes ago and then reality sort of sunk in. We had a girls’ night tonight – some of my mates came round and I suppose we sort of had a boob party! I’ve done my nails, I’ve had my tan, I got my hair dyed – basically I want everything to be perfect for tomorrow. I want to wake up, stick my lashes on and be like ‘Ta-da! Check ’em out!’ But now everyone’s gone I’m freaking out! I don’t like it!

  Deep breaths! So here’s the technical stuff. I’m getting 250cc silicone implants inserted under the muscle. I saw a couple of doctors and they both said I shouldn’t really go a lot bigger because I’m only little – five two and quite skinny. Obviously I want the girls to be bigger, but I don’t want to look like a Barbie doll either. I went for silicone over saline just because my doctor said they’d be safer … apparently the newer implants can’t leak, which is what freaks me out the most. I don’t know about you, but I’ve seen those documentaries where the silicone leaks into the rest of the body and there’re lumps and bumps and black shit everywhere. My doctor said that that just can’t happen anymore.

  Right now it’s about midnight. I’m in bed, but there’s no way I’m gonna sleep. I’m wide awake. I would literally kill for a cup of tea, but I’m not allowed. We have to leave here at six thirty to get to the hospital – I live with my sister, so she’s taken the day off work to come with me. She’s fast asleep in the next room. I might honestly just stay awake all night; I’ll probably be less tired – you know like when you pull an all-nighter on a random Thursday out and then power through to the office Friday morning.

  I AM BRICKING IT.

  At my consultation they made me sign one of those ‘if you die during this operation it’s your own stupid fault’ forms – like a disclaimer or whatever they’re called. Some people go under the anaesthetic and just don’t wake up. I must be mad. I actually paid for this.

  Ooh, that’s a good point actually. How much did I pay? I had no idea about how much these things cost until I went to my first appointment. Personally, I’m paying six grand for the op. I love how my doctor explained it was three grand per boob. Like who’s gonna get just one done, right?

  I decided to take out a loan in the end because to save up six grand would have taken forever. I had like two thousand pounds saved already but borrowed the rest. I’ll be paying for these puppies for about five years, but I really think it’s gonna be worth it. At the moment, I’m just trying to forget about what the next six weeks are going to be like and just focus on how amazing it’ll be to have perfect boobs.

  I could have saved a shitload of money by going abroad to get them done. Seriously, even with flights and hotels and stuff it would have been cheaper to go to Belgium or somewhere. But I was worried that the hospital would be like something out of Hostel though, and I wanted to be near my mum in case something goes wrong. A friend of my mate Abbie went to South Africa for lipo and when she got an infection it ended up costing twice as much to get the aftercare back home, so I was like SOD THAT. Like you get what you pay for.

  I suppose I should describe what they’re like now really. I’ll upload some ‘before’ pics, obviously. I call them Mary-Kate and Ashley cos they’re my twins! Bless ’em, but they’re tiny. I mean like teeny-tiny, right? At the moment I’m a 32AA and I’m hoping to go up to a C cup. It’s a bit bollocks, but the doctors can’t promise what size they’ll be after the op because they only work with the size of the implant. I won’t actually know what bra size I’ll need until a few weeks after the op, which is slightly worrying.

  So why am I getting it done? I’m definitely getting it done for me. I’m young, I’m single, I’ve got a job, so why not? My mum and sister think I’m mental, but they don’t have boy chests. People always say ‘look at models, they never have boobs’ – yeah, well, they’re also six foot tall and models. I am clearly not a model. I suppose, as much as I love Mary-Kate and Ashley, I just wanna feel more womanly and curvy.

  I remember the first girl in our year to get boobs. I think it was Year Five and Jenny Pullman – I think she died last year so I shouldn’t be shady – just ballooned overnight. We could all see the outline of her training bra through her yellow blouse – the boys were mesmerised, and us girls were all desperate to see them when we got changed for PE! I couldn’t wait for mine to pop out too. Well, I’m still waiting! I don’t know about you, but when I was little – well, like twelve or thirteen – I used to lie in bed and actually pray that tomorrow would be the day I woke up with big breasts. We never even went to church, but I used to properly put my hands together and pray to the God of Boobs. Obviously it didn’t work.

  When I go out with my mate Cherise, she’s (and I’m not being a bitch cos she looks great) quite a lot bigger than me, but she always gets all the attention from the lads. Take last Friday night for example – we went out near Clapham Junction to this amazing tiki bar place that’s done up to look like a grotto. Me and Claire, my sister, got there first and were already at the bar when Cherise walked in. I swear time stopped, the music went quiet and every penis pair of eyes in the bar followed her across the room like she was the Pied bloody Piper or something.

  She didn’t even have her boobs on display or nothing – they’re just there – but within about thirty seconds flat, some preppy city boy in one of them candy-stripe shirts was offering to buy her a Woo-Woo. I might as well have been invisible. I reckon having an amazing rack means
she just has more confidence, like a glow or something. Whatever it is, I want a piece of that. I’m bloody sick to the back teeth of worrying about my chest.

  Every single time I’ve been with a guy (and no, I’m not gonna put my magic number on here!) I dread getting my kit off. The terror starts as soon as you have a snog. Picture the scene. You’ve been on a date or out dancing and he comes back to yours. You stick Adele on and get a glass of wine. You move to the sofa and make some chit-chat before he goes in for the kill. You know how it goes, the kiss gets deeper and his hands start wandering …

  That’s when I stop thinking about the kiss and one thought fills my head … CHICKEN FILLETS. You can feel it in the way the kiss changes rhythm – he knows. He’s wondering if he can sue for false advertising. All I can think about is how I’m gonna whip them out without him noticing or about how I’m going to have to apologise for the major lack of breasts. You can see it though, even though they all say it’s not a problem. They smile, but they don’t smile with their eyes. Gutted. Flat as a pancake.

  Anyway, never mind the guys. This is a present to myself. I’m gonna feel better with bigger boobs. You’ve gotta love yourself, right?!

  This wasn’t an impulse buy, girls. It’s not like I was at the checkout at Tesco and suddenly thought, ‘Ooh, maybe I’ll get some chewing gum and some silicone implants.’ I’ve been wanting this since I was about fifteen when I finally realised they weren’t gonna appear overnight. I am fully, a hundred per cent sure I want this, but tonight the nerves have set in because it’s real now. Tomorrow I’m finally getting some boobs.

  I guess I should try to get some sleep now or tomorrow I’m gonna feel like total shit. I’ll take my laptop to the hospital so I’ll blog as soon as I can after the op. I don’t know how long that’s gonna be, cos I’m gonna be really out of it. What I’ll do is, I’ll show you what it looks like afterwards (probably be a bit of a car crash, but hey-ho) and then again a few weeks later when all the bandages are off and you can compare before and after.

  For now though, if you’ve got any questions, leave them in the comments box.

  Becca xxx

  DAY OF THE OP

  OK, I’m typing in italics because I’m WHISPERING! I don’t even think I’m meant to be using my laptop, but I’m waiting to go in now. I’ve been waiting for like an hour and I’m by myself AND I accidentally left my magazine in Claire’s bag!!!

  I wish I could share how sexy I look right now. I’m naked except for a shitty blue nightie thing. My bum is hanging out where it’s tied at the back! About an hour ago, the surgeon came to mark me up: There’s lines all over my chest where he’s gonna cut me. They go underneath the girls and diagonally across where the muscle is apparently. I look like a frigging dot-to-dot drawing.

  I had to send Claire out. The look on her face was freaking me out and every time I tried to speak to her it felt like I might throw up. I wonder if that’s why they don’t let you eat.

  Right up until we got to the hospital I seriously thought I might back out. In the car I looked at Claire and was about a second away from telling her to turn around, but then I was like ‘no, you’ve paid for it, you’re doing it’. I think I’ve come too far now. I suppose I don’t HAVE to go through with it, but I’d look properly mental if I freaked out now. I wish I wasn’t by myself. I was OK when Si was here – he’s the surgeon – South African guy. He’d be quite hot if he wasn’t bald. Now he’s gone I don’t know if I can go through with it.

  I just have to keep thinking about what they’ll be like in six weeks. I’ve got this image of me and the new boobs walking down the road wearing a really nice top – nothing tarty – and just feeling like I’m floating in slow motion; all the boys looking back at me. I’ve got to keep that in my head.

  This is so much harder than I thought it was gonna be.

  OK. The nurse has just been in to tell me I’m next. Here we go.

  TEN DAYS AFTER OP

  Hey everyone! Thank you so much for all your comments and get-well-soon messages! They really cheered me up loads. I can’t believe how many people have read the last post and I’m so sorry I didn’t update the blog sooner.

  I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been feeling pretty shit. I still feel shit, but a lot less shit than I was. I’m high as a kite on codeine but I’ll do my best to run you through everything that happened.

  So I went into get my anaesthetic and I was really worried about waking up halfway through the op, but anaesthetist lady said that wasn’t gonna happen. Next thing I knew I was awake and freaking out in the recovery room. I got really pissed off with the nurse because I thought if I didn’t go find Claire she’d leave without me. I was pretty out of it!

  I can’t explain how weird it felt. It really did feel like there was a huge fat guy sat on my chest – that’s how heavy they felt. It was crushing at first.

  Anyway, turns out Claire realised we hadn’t brought a sports bra – we’d both completely forgotten – so she’d done a dash to M&S for me. I’ve been stuck in the bastard thing ever since.

  To be honest, the pain hasn’t been as bad as I thought, but I am off my tits (ha) on drugs. Word of warning: I didn’t do a poo for like three days. The constipation from all the morphine was maybe the worst part, I was bloated and fat and minging. THEY SHOULD TELL YOU THAT AT THE START! The pain though wasn’t that bad. It’s weird. The pain is sort of in my arms and shoulders. Believe me, you will NEED someone to help you around the house. Claire has been amazing helping me get dressed and washed and stuff. All you mums out there, seriously, you will want someone around cos there is no way you’re lifting a baby.

  The worst part, way worse than the pain, is how they looked. They looked fucking awful. Sorry about the language, but they really did. On the first night out of the hospital I cried and cried and cried. They were so high up they were almost on my chin. I was so angry, I really did think the op had gone wrong, but Si kept telling me it was fine and this is what it was like. All I could think was ‘all that stress, all that money and pain, and it’s GONE WRONG’. No one wants mutant boobs and I was devastated. I made Claire call Si like five times and he said they’d relax and drop over the next few days.

  Luckily for him (because I would have actually killed him) they have calmed down. You can tell straight away they’re bigger. Like loads bigger. I know they’re still swollen, and they will get smaller, but Mary-Kate and Ashley are all grown up! They don’t feel as hard as I thought they might and they’ve settled into more or less the right position. It’s hard to tell because I’m still in bandages for another four days, and the stitches still need to come out.

  I really do like them. Sorry, I’m finding it really hard to sound pleased or excited because I’m just so fucking tired and sore. I normally roll around in bed but while the gauze is on I have to lie propped up on my back, so I’ve hardly slept a wink all week. In the end I went to my GP and she gave me a week’s supply of sleeping pills. I’m so, SO glad I booked the time off work. At the moment, the only thing I can think about is my boobs. It’s insane, but it’s like they’ve become my whole life.

  Right now, I just want the bandages off and the stitches out so I can see what they look like and get on with the rest of my life. It’s like I had to wait twenty years to get some boobs and now I’m waiting again. I’m running out of patience, I just want it over and done with.

  Good news is, I’ve lost weight. Because the painkillers make me feel vommy, I’ve hardly eaten all week, so that’s good, I guess. Sorry I sound so bloody miserable. After I’ve been for my two-week check-up, I’ll show you what they look like and I’m sure they’ll be looking great.

  TEN WEEKS POST OP

  Hey! Sorry it’s been so long since my last post. Thanks again for all your comments – I bet you’re dying to know how I’m getting on. Well, take a look at the pics! What do you think? Before and after! Pretty different huh? BOOOOOOBS!

  You’ll note that I am wearing a perfectly normal bra. If I never we
ar a sports bra ever again it will be too soon. I cannot tell you how amazing it was to go into La Senza and just buy a bra. Not a tiny special-needs mega-padded bra, just a bra. I’ve bought like a hundred. OK, not a hundred, but more than I need!

  I am THRILLED to say that I’m now a 32 C – which is sort of what Si predicted, so I guess he must be pretty good after all! The last time I wrote, I was on a major Debbie Downer, but I just wanted to be able to have a shower and wash my own hair and do normal stuff.

  Erm … after the last post (just re-reading it!) I went to have the gauze off and get the stitches out – although it actually turned out the stitches were dissolvable so they fell out by themselves. I’m trying to think of stuff you should know … I guess I should talk about the scars. Obviously there is some scarring, but you can’t really see them unless you look – they’re right in the crease under the boob. At first they were hideous like two Joker grins– red and horrid. They’ve faded though, thank God. I’m using bio-oil on them cos that helps them heal apparently. Claire says she can hardly see them, but I know they’re there. I’m really worried that when I lie down guys will see them straight away too.

  All that stuff about your nipples dying is bollocks. I can still feel them, thank you very much. Because the implant is under the muscle I should be able to breastfeed too, if I even want kids. The only other thing you’ve asked a lot of questions about is how long they last. The honest answer is, I don’t know. Si didn’t seem all that bothered about it when I asked, so I think they last years and years. They do decay though. I get that I’ll have to replace them for as long as I want them (and pay all over again), but that’s something to worry about further down the line.