A Tale of Two Boobs

I have issues with my breasts. My first recollection of when “the girls” became something for me to obsess about was sometime around the age of 12. I was prepubescent and the only sex-education I had been exposed to was from the school sponsored programs where they separated the boys from the girls and we were addressed about the changes we would go through in medical speak-ease and adult jargon. So when I noticed the two small lumps on my chest during a personal exploration, I immediately freaked out. At the time, Google was just what boys did to girls, as in “making googlely eyes,” and my only source of info in the house I grew up in was an old set of encyclopedias, which I would actually page through for fun.

Without anything to research and/or rule out, I promptly diagnosed myself with breast c@ncer. I remember being in my room and stifling tears into my Rick Springfield pillow. I was going to be the youngest person to have ever died of breast c@ncer. I didn’t know how I was going to tell my parents the dire news without breaking their hearts. I eventually decided I would not want them to be burdened with the terrible diagnosis, so I told no one.

Obviously, my “c@ncer” resolved itself and the two little hard lumps turned into two small soft lumps that required nothing more than a t-shirt to keep hidden.

Fast forward 20+ years.

In 2000, I had a small windfall and made up my mind that I was going to have breast augmentation. I was tired of the only bras fitting me were the training bras out of the pre-teen section of the department stores. Mr. DD, who married me in spite of being a major boob-man, was surprisingly hesitant at my decision. The plastic surgeon was graphically clear that things can, and do, go wrong, as it is major surgery requiring general anesthesia. I was undeterred.

After a couple of consults and deciding on a rather conservative implant size, the procedure was done without any notable problems. I healed quickly and easily. I went from an A cup to a full B/small C. I thought my choice in size was almost too conservative until my pregnancy with X, which resulted in some very uncomfortably large boobs. By the time I finally finished breastfeeding, I was so thrilled I hadn’t gone larger. I find it ironic that my blog has been the found via searches with the following phrases: dd boobs; dd women; dd sex. I feel I should mention that my moniker “DD” has nothing to do with the size of my breasts…sorry, fellas.

I am not ashamed of my decision, but when I get asked about major surgeries during a medical history, I never include the augmentation amongst the tonsillectomy and caesarean section. I figure there’s enough info obtained from those two procedures that including the plastic surgery seems redundant.

I’m posting about my girls because last night I noticed a clear discharge from both nipples. It was right before going to bed, and even though I was a little freaked out, I just wasn’t up to consulting either the encyclopedia or Google, so I pushed it out of my mind until this morning. My gut tells me that it’s probably due to the past few months of homonal stims and stress, but Google is hinting at a fibrocystic condition, which appeals more to my paranoid and hypochondrial psyche. I have left a message with my Perfect PA to see what her recommendations are.

Plus I figured so many posts were dedicated to the girly bits of the nether region, that it was due time that The Girls upstairs get some recognition as well, especially since they were nearly as expensive as the two IUIs.

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