So the anxiously-awaited appointment today went…not quite like I (surely, we) had hoped, but more like I had harbored suspicion it would. Which is fine too.
Dr. Fabu had told me to bring a bra and fitted T-shirt. I envisioned walking in, pulling out my favorite shirt and cutest polka-dot camisole (which I purchased optimistically). They’d say, “What size are you shopping for?” and I’d say, “The size that will make me look like this was made for me.” [*cue wolf whistle*]
What actually happened was more like this: “So, I asked you to bring…yeah. Those won’t work.” (Turns to the rep from the implant company.) “Do you have something better?” (Sales rep pulls out some orthopedic bandage-looking contraption.) “Ah, there we go.”
Clearly I had misunderstood the purpose of bringing a bra/shirt. They were tools, not choices for dress-up. I put on the one she offers and she asks the magic question, “What size are you looking to be?” But before I can open the floor to discussion, the convo began in Dutch. “We don’t have a lot of fat to work with, and she’s had radiation on the left side…”, adds Dr. F. The choice was between getting the smallest implant or…well, that was it really. In the end the bras and T-shirts were not necessary as the decision came down to technical limitations, not auditions for size. Given my history, this was no shocker.
Dr. Fabulous appeared to feel that there was one “right” answer. And there’s nothing worse than not making the “right” decision, so that makes it easy. (Know what I mean? There’s this natural tendency to feel that there is a “right” and a “wrong” decision to make, but rarely in life is that true. Or am I getting a little too philosophical?) It’s all a little less “fun” than my imagination had predicted, but I’m actually not disappointed to have the decision made for me.
While I fancy myself too smart to be fooled into thinking that being super voluptuous would suit my body (or my personality), the superficial (and curious) side of me would find it hard to pass up the chance to try something completely different than what I have been before. I might dream of looking like Stephanie Seymore, but I also fear getting what I “want” and hating it. It’s all too easy to say, “maybe just a little more” until…you wake up and say, “Holy crap, how did I end up with these?!”
So, it’s out of my hands and that’s (surprisingly) okay by me. Dr. Fabulous did say that if I had my heart set, it would be possible to “upgrade” again in a year or two. It’s great to be told that there are always options, but I’m confident this will feel just right!