For all of my readers, new and old, I would like to happily announce that this is my first guest poster! She wishes to remain anonymous, but wanted to share her story. I realize it is out of the epilepsy realm, but I want to branch out a bit this year. It is a powerful story I am proud to share and think a lot of women can relate to which is why I am sharing it on this site with you. 

Give her lots of love and respect. These stories are hard to tell, and very emotional. If you have something you would like for me to share contact me. Also, click that follow button to receive updates!

-Kate

How I knew I had to change my physical appearance to better myself.

September 22, 2015 was the best day of my life. 5am I walk into the hospital with both of my parents to get my breast reduction done. I’ve never been more excited in my life to do something to myself to change how I look on the outside to feel how I should on the inside.

I’ve never been comfortable in my own skin. Growing up, I’ve never viewed myself as pretty. As a young girl, I was never told I was pretty or even really noticed as a person by anyone. I took to sports to gain attention in some way  as any child would do to gain approval from their parents, and let me tell you something, I was good. For me, I could accept this praise because it was a physical action that could be measured. It is the acceptance and praise I was conditioned to as a child and it was all I knew.

To this day, I become uncomfortable when someone tells me I’m gorgeous or attractive. I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’m 23 years old and to be honest I’m really  okay with that decision. Men like me, they find me attractive I see this and they tell me this when we’re together. Don’t get me wrong – I do like it when they tell me I’m beautiful, but deep down I don’t feel like it’s true. I don’t know how to give myself that type of value or even accept it from someone else. But, recently I’m at a point in my life where I don’t give a fuck anymore and I’m comfortable with who I am.

At the age of 16 I developed breasts that were large and I was excited for them! Who wouldn’t be at 16! I had to buy real bras, not that fake padded shit that look like cotton bubbles that sit on your chest. I had boobies! I received attention that I wasn’t use to before and to be honest, it was unbelievably uncomfortable. I started wearing compressive sports bras to hide my new-found boobies. By 20, I was a size G. I was wearing 2 bras a day. One minimizer and a heavy-duty compressive sports bra and they were still massive for my body.  My back/neck/chest/ head hurt all the time. I was popping Tylenol  twice daily because it was the only way to ease the pain.  Now, I have always been incredibly active. By 18 I was playing roller derby 4-5 times a week. That’s intense cardio and core work. I was fit as fuck when during this time, I weighed about 140-150 lbs. My body knew that was the proper healthy weight for what I was doing. My breasts only grew even though my other measurements on my body shrunk.

When I was about 21 I went see my OBGYN often to tell her about my problems and how I am very active with roller derby and eating healthy and she recommended a primary to me so I could get the process started for my reduction. This new primary doctor was the biggest bitch I’ve ever met in my life. I told her about my breasts and how uncomfortable they were and she weighed me and measured me looked at a fucking height to weight ratio chart and said I needed to lose 15 lbs before she would even consider recommending me to a plastic surgeon. She never asked about what kinds of foods I eat or activities I would do for working out. She assumed I didn’t and that I was fat. BMI is bullshit.

Here is worst part, because I was insecure about myself, I believed her. I attempted to lose more weight became sick and tired all the time to the point where my mother would tell me to “eat some fucking meat and take those fucking B vitamins”, so I wouldn’t be tired all the time. I was mentally and physically fucked because of this bitch. That’s when I decided to stop seeing her because my sister and mom helped me realize I was healthy and my body shouldn’t change like that. Thank you both. After this come to Jesus moment, I just ignored my breasts and continue to have fun with derby. Best decision I’ve ever made. This sport is where I built my confidence and was able to accept myself and really truly figure out who and how I should be. I grew into my own person and I’m forever grateful I went down this path because now I literally don’t give a fuck. 

At the age of 22, I found large masses in my breasts. I never liked how I looked so I didn’t check myself or even glance at myself in mirror unless I was covered up. I was wearing a bra and I was scratching an itch and felt it. My heart dropped. I told my mom and sister and they told me to get my shit together and see the doctor. I got in immediately and had an ultra sound done and was recommended to see a breast surgeon. I found out it was just cysts and tissue and I was OK! But, I wasn’t, I asked about a reduction. I went in seeing the breast surgeon and she said she really only did cancer so she recommend me to another associate of hers. I made the appointment and went in the following week.

I went by myself, scared and anticipating the worst. I hated every second of all of this and wanted it to be over and just forget everything. But I knew I wouldn’t be happy and I wanted to live my life, so I went into his office and they had me undress and change into a robe. We discussed my problems and my activities and I told him about my previous doctor telling me what to do and he looked at my chart, looked at my numbers and apologized to me on her behalf and said she was wrong to tell me I was overweight. He then told me he was going to open my robe and take pictures and measurement and I immediately started crying, they quickly did what they needed to do. No one ever has seen my breasts. All of my insecurities about how I look and feel about myself all came flooding out and I couldn’t stop crying. Him and his nurse left the room immediately and let me re dress in private. I pulled myself together and left.

I got a call September 18 that I was approved by my insurance for my surgery. I was fucking thrilled! I called my mother and sister immediately and told them it was on for the 22nd and that my mom was taking care of me for 2 weeks! 

I went into his office one more time and he gave me the details of what he would be doing:  I wouldn’t have drainage tubes, how to care for my breasts after the surgery, what cup size I would be, where to purchase sports bras that clip in the front(Walmart, buy 4 of them. You will need to change them frequently), what pain to expect, what incisions he will be making: he did the anchor method because I was so large and what time I needed to be at the hospital. 

I went to bed late and couldn’t really fall sleep because I was so excited for the next day. 4am rolled around quickly and I was up and ready to go. I walk into my 5am check in time nervous and excited. I got my IVs in and my surgeon came around the curtain and I gave him the biggest smile and told him to chop them the fuck off and make me more aerodynamic! He laughed, sat me up and told me to disrobe one last time to do some markings for the surgery and this time I didn’t cry. I was uncomfortable but I knew in 10 minutes I would be on that table ready for the best change of my life.

They gave me something in my IV and it was FABULOUS they rolled me in OR had me move to the next table and put a mask on my face and told me to breathe. I was out.

I woke up in fucking horrible, horrible pain. I was crying and asking for more drugs and my remember my nurse telling me I had my limit and I rolled over and told my mom that she was being a “stingy bitch.” I got my way and rolled out of there with more drugs. Holler. As I was getting dressed to leave I don’t remember much besides the fact I was trying not to barf. It was hot, I was sweaty, I shouldn’t have asked for all those extra drugs. No regrets. I got home passed out on my bed and woke up to my mother obnoxiously tussling around the room. She doesn’t know how to be quite. Bless her heart. I immediately came to I moved the covers off told her to come pick me up so I can go to the mirror and up zip my jacket. I DIDN’T HAVE BOOBIES! They were in a tiny cotton bra covered in my own blood and I was so excited to see how beautiful I felt, not looked, but felt.  It was the best day of my life. 

I looked and felt amazing. I finally looked how I wanted to look and I was able to actually feel comfortable with myself for the first time in my life.

Not going to lie, recovery was rough for a solid week. A catheter was cramped up inside of you so it’s hard to pee for a few days, you can’t lift your arms over your head, you can’t take a full of shower until day 3, you get sweaty so easily, and you can’t poop because of all the pain medication you’re taking!

You’re dependent on someone for almost everything.

It was incredibly tough, but I was lucky enough to have a mom who loves me and made that first week easier. Taking care of my incisions was nerve-racking. I was instructed to buy large gauze and non-stick wound patches for covering my newly sewn back on nipples. Every day and night I would redress the wounds. These are some freshly cut titties so anything and everything you do  is scary as hell. Every night when I would shower I would peel off the non stick that was coated in Neosporin (that was easy) but  the gauze that covered my underneath U shape that is my newly shaped breast would stick because it was oozing a tiny bit. I would run it under warm water for it to fall off without tearing it or causing further pain.

After all the gauze is off, I would take a new clean washcloth every night and wash the incisions with anti bacterial soap.  I would do this routine for 3 weeks until the “tape” that was holding my incisions together fell off because the incisions were fully closed. I was instructed to continue to wear the sports bras 24/7 for almost a month and a half and then I finally was able to wear what ever bra I desired( let’s be real, I free balled it when ever possible!) . I’m a year in and I still  have scars on my breasts. I don’t care! My new boobies are tiny and amazing!

Changing how you look on the outside is ultimately a personal decision.  It took me years of caring what people thought and thinking less of myself before I finally made the decision of saying “Why should I care, I’m the one living in this body”.  Trusting myself enough to change  physically and mentally for the better. I would do the reduction all over again in a heart beat. Sometimes you have to physically change to make the mental switch.