Wednesday, August 3, 2016
The Breast Is Yet To Come- Part 3
We left off with this entire boob job hinging on one thing: Will there be a difference in price for the implants the associate doctor plans to use vs. the implants my original doctor planned?
So I entered the appointment prepared for my rebuttal if they said there would be:
The new implants are smaller, therefore, the difference in price should be in my favor. And if you try to tell me it's some kind of service charge for having to order a whole new set of different implants, I'll simply drop that little bomb of info the office manager probably shouldn't have handed me 2 weeks ago:..."as it turns out, the wrong implants were ordered anyway, so see? Everything happens for a reason."
Please be careful. I remember everything.
Ron demanded he come with me to the appointment so he was under strict orders to remain silent. We were treading on unfamiliar territory. I'd been thrust into the role of Good Cop, he'd jumped ship into full-fledged Screw You Cop, and we were about to make our first personal appearance together. We were playing a dangerous game here.
I signed all the consent forms and then the doctor came in. I can't stress to you enough how amazing he is. He examined and measured me again and when I reminded him that my goal is not to have bigger boobs, he showed me on the chart how the implant sizes he'll use are perfectly proportionate to my body. Then he turned to bad cop sitting silently in the corner and assured him that they won't be small, by any means, either. (He reads my husband very well.) He took before pics from every angle and I didn't smile or say cheese, because to appear any crazier at this point, is to jeopardize the particularly delicate ecosystem of unfamiliar social behavior we'd been boxed into...aaaand, I was the only one allowed to talk, so it all hinged on me.
At the end of my appointment, I asked about a price difference of the implants and then prepared to plead my case, but was surprised when he said, "Oh there shouldn't be any difference at all." Then he confirmed my surgery date for the 19th.
That night, I tossed and turned, and started googling breast augmentation surgeries gone wrong, as you do. By 2:30am, I'd spiraled into a complete panic and convinced myself they'd be too big, I'd pop one, spring a leak, lose both my nipples and come out looking like an old porn star. Surely God didn't want this to happen, so he'd close the door on this entire debacle.
I waited all the following day for the phone call from the office manager explaining the "unavoidable difference in implant prices" probably totaling the amount of, oh, I don't know, $326.00?!?! (Hey, I'm a bit of a cynic these days.) But the call never came. It didn't come Wednesday or Thursday, either. Finally, on Friday, I called the office. So, is there a price difference in implants? Nope, none. Wait a minute...Dr. O'Neil doesn't have a pregnant daughter due any day, does he?!? Nope. She's only 3. Are you telling me this surgery is actually going to happen? Yep.
So one way or another, for better or for worse, every hoop has been jumped through, and every door has remained open for me to have this surgery. I can't believe I have 3 entries in this series and not one incision has even been made. If you've hung in with me this far, you're a real trooper.
Tune in tomorrow, when I actually get to use the over-the-counter surgical soap that smells like turpentine and burns like hell.