DAY ONE - THE OPERATION

After months of waiting and uncertainty the day of reckoning was finally upon me. I didn't know whether to welcome it with open arms or run from it as fast as I could! I got up with the alarm at 8.30am and went straight under a hot shower. I relished the water washing away that sticky, smelly iodine lotion and lingered as the hot water gushed through my hair. How long would it be before I could have a shower or bath again?! I felt a moment of sadness too, as I looked at my two little breasts that had served me so well for the past 34 years - I hoped I was doing the right thing.

Shortly after arriving at the private hospital in London, Paul (my partner) and I were escorted to what was to be my living accommodation for the next 24 hours. It was a small room with an ensuite bathroom. It contained a fully adjustable bed, a colour television, a telephone and a handy but huge remote control for the television and lighting. The first visitor was a nurse who had come to take my blood, something that, ideally, should be done two weeks before the operation. Then my blood pressure was checked and my temperature taken. I was asked to provide a urine specimen and leave it in the bathroom. I was also asked to unpack my new 34C sports bra - this would be fitted by the nurses at some point after the operation. The nurse left telling me to get changed into my gown at 1.30pm - the surgeon was due at 2.00pm.

It was an hour later at 2.30pm before anyone came again - this time it was the anaesthetist. Shortly afterwards the surgeon arrived to mark the relevant black lines around my breasts and to take his 'before' pictures. He used a black felt tip pen and drew a black outline around each breast and then marked off where he was to put the incision on each. He finished off by writing the date and my initials on my stomach! It was 3.00pm when they came to get me - my heart dropped and then started beating ten to the dozen. I got myself up off my bed and onto the trolley they had wheeled into my room. Then the bars were lifted up to prevent me falling out. I took a backward glance as I was wheeled out of the room and managed to mouth goodbye to my dear Paul.

As I was wheeled along the corridors the tears started to flow - this was the moment I had been dreading and I was scared. Then it was bright lights, lots of people, things being stuck on my back; the anaesthetist asking me questions. It was hectic and I had trouble concentrating on what I wanted to say although I can remember being adamant that I was going to finish each sentence. I can remember starting to feel all faint and saying something like "I can feel myself going now".........

According to Paul it was 5.30pm when I was brought back to my room. Although I knew Paul was there, I couldn't say anything to him, I just kept falling in and out of consciousness. When I started to get my thoughts into some kind of order I looked down at my chest. There were these two huge pointed lumps. Very swollen and very heavy on my chest. From what I could see they seemed a strange shape but I couldn't really move to see them very well. It felt very heavy and sore and I was unable to move very far in any direction.

My memories of the rest of that evening are a bit of a blur. I can remember that my door was constantly being knocked and people were coming in and out - nurses, catering staff and, at one point, the anaesthetist. I seem to recall him insisting that I move my legs and feet and continue to take my antibiotics. I must have gone to sleep around 10pm that evening - it had all been a bit much, I was sore and felt very strange and was pleased to switch off the television and turn out the lights for the night.

DAY TWO - THE DAY AFTER THE OPERATION

I don't know what time the first knock came upon my door but it was too early. I couldn't see the time - my watch was on the bedside cabinet and I couldn't move to reach it. It was the arrival of the newspaper I ordered when I checked into the hospital. Shortly afterwards arrived the breakfast I had ordered some time the night before. It remained there untouched - all bar a few sips of the pineapple juice - until it was removed some time later. After lying in the dark for what must have been a couple of hours I decided to open the curtains.

I don't think I should have got up - the pain in my chest got worse. I keep using the word heavy but that is how best to describe it. Heavy, sore and bruised. Being a naturally squeamish person anyway, I also started to feel queasy at the thought of my incisions and what I had just been through. I pressed the red button and waited for a nurse to come.

Two nurses came to my assistance and, with the arrival of assistance so too came the tears. The nurses sympathised and said I hadn't had any painkillers since the night before. They tried moving my bra about a bit and readjusting the bed and the pillows. I climbed back into bed and waited for the painkillers to take effect. I felt quite scared and alone - my whole chest area felt alien to me, large, heavy and very much 'up in front'.

Paul telephoned me at what must have been around 10.00am - I told him that I was waiting for the surgeon to see me and Paul informed me that he was leaving to come and collect me. I felt better after hearing that. It hurt to lean over and pick up the telephone though! When the surgeon arrived he had an amused, mischievous look in his eyes. The nurses had told him about my tears earlier that morning - apparently I was the first of his patients to do this! He diagnosed me as having a low pain threshold and informed me that he had arranged for stronger painkillers to be available to me for use at home over the next few days. Up until this point I had been laying quite still, not moving so as to avoid any pain and had got quite used to this. I was not amused when the surgeon told me that keeping still was the worse thing I could do - I needed to make sure I didn't stiffen up anywhere whilst at the same time minimising use of the upper arms and chest muscles! Now he and the nurses wanted me to get up and stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom to have a look at my new breasts. I didn't want to look in the mirror; I didn't want to be touched and certainly didn't want to take my bra off.

I started to feel all queasy. I felt top heavy - my breasts were HUGE!! They weren't just huge; they were also a strange shape and seemed far separated from each other, almost pointing in opposite directions! They were sore to the touch. The surgeon said they looked fine although I couldn't agree with him. The nurses added that, at this particular stage in the process, my breasts looked well. The surgeon encouraged me to feel my breasts and hold them, explaining that they would remain swollen for the next 6 weeks. I must wear the bra continuously for the next 6 weeks - he assured me that I would feel more comfortable with it than without it although it didn't feel like it there and then. I was to have complete bed rest for two days and then I must take it easy. No lifting, stretching or driving for the next 2 weeks and the bandaging (which came down to just above my naval) was not to get wet at all for the next two weeks - no relaxing in the bath or enjoying an invigorating shower.

I was so pleased when Paul arrived. I told him my adventures and then he helped me pack my things and get dressed. He packed everything in fact which was great because I had been wondering how I was going to manage it all! I felt totally dependent and vulnerable. The journey home was slow and careful, I think it took about 2 hours. I had enjoyed the journey - it was great to be out of hospital. I didn't wear my seat belt. That would have been unbearable. I can't say how I felt about it all - again I was still quite emotionally numb yet excited to have come through it all alive and seemingly well.