Reduction Deduction

Warning- you are entering the Zone of Too Much Information

One day, when I was 12 years old, I awoke to find a set of knockers upon my chest. 

Now, for most girls, this would be a fabulous day.

For me, alas, it was not.

You see, I was a tomboy of sorts.  I liked sports.  I liked tap dancing.  These are both things that become more difficult with a big set of boobs.

I remember sitting in the back of the bus with my 2 closest friends since first grade, Ed and David, when they both said, in unison, "Wow, you've got boobs."  We had hit a speed bump.

Thanks guys.

Later that year, in 7th grade, was the first time my back went out.  I was doing a lay up in gym class.  Ouch.  I became a more cautious and much less useful basketball player.  Welcome to the B team.  Sigh.

Tap dancing was the next to go.

I hid them well throughout most of high school.  Even into college.  Occasionally, a few people would notice.  They usually were PWP's- People With Penises.  Once they noticed, it became difficult for them not to stare.  Sigh.

My boyfriend at my lovely Ivy League alma mater even commented "Wow, you could be a stripper!"  Thanks. 

Don't get me wrong, I have used them to my advantage from time to time.  When I worked in a bar, I used the $10 button rule- for every button lower on my blouse, I ended the night with an extra $10-$20.  Also, leaning in, after I served a drink usually resulted in more than "Keep the change, kid."  They paid for college in some ways we could say.

But the back issues continued.  I did yoga.  I ate macrobiotic to reduce inflammation.  I stretched religiously every morning.

When I entered the professional world, I always dressed somewhat dowdy.  It just made life easier.  One time I wore a turtleneck while I taught a class. Under a jacket.  I got hot.  I took off my jacket. Bad idea. Hellooooo... I'm up here!!!  My female boss very politely commented that I wear something else the next time I taught.  You know, something less sexy THAN A TURTLENECK.

Then I had a car accident.  My back was hurt, but the orthopedist pointed out, at age 26, that most of the damage was pre-existing from my "large chest.  Not that I don't appreciate them."  He actually said that in a much less creepy way than that sounds...

Sigh.

I worked out.  I went to physical therapy.  I dealt with it.

Into my 30's I had kids.  At no point during my pregnancy was my stomach ever bigger than my boobs.  No cute baby bump for me.  And forget finding cute maternity clothes.  I went with the "Whatever I Can Get Over My Chest" clothing line.  Nursing was a bit of a challenge, but the girls served their purpose.  They were a little sadder and lower when I was done.  The good news, the shifting put pressure on a completely different part of my back- great!  It was also convenient when I had my daughter- I didn't need a Boppy Pillow!  My friend used to joke that she had 34 Longs. I completely understand that now.

And my back kept hurting.  And exercise became more difficult, not only to fit in, but to actually do.

I went to a chiropractor.  It worked pretty well.  For awhile.  I am an advocate.

Then my disc slipped.

And my shoulders have dents that I can probably rest pencils in from bra straps working diligently over the past 30 years.  They have been trying to do the impossible.

I tried to get insurance to cover the obvious need for a reduction, but they won't.  I have no "history" of back pain.  Huh? 

I'm too fat.  I like to say I grew into my boobs.  They are the same size they were 50 pounds ago.

But yes, you see, if I exercise my back goes out.  For 10 years every time I have started an exercise program-- even supvervised- my back eventually goes.

Well, I should lose weight.

So I did.

But not enough.

So I lost some more.

Still not enough. 

So I asked- "How much is enough?"

Well, there's not set figure.

WTF?

So I decided, oddly on the day of Elizabeth Taylor's death- another well endowed woman with back pain- that this is it.  The girls have served their purpose and now it's time for a little medical intervention, insurance be damned.

Oddly, I feel guilty.  I know enough women that have survived breast cancer that I feel guilty about having mine reduced. 

I also feel guilty spending money that could be used for something more important on something that my mid-western mind is having a hard time as seeing as important.

But I just can't take it anymore.

It is not my fault that I have big boobs any more than it's my fault that my nose is not particularly cute.  Oddly, I could easily have that fixed due to a deviated septum.  The amount of money that will be spent on "fixing" my back is probably substantially more than the cost of a reduction.  If I had had implants, they would pay to have those removed.  I guess my natural "implants" (aka boobs) don't count.
But I guess that's how insurance companies roll these days.
And there is the fact that I would like to be able to buy a shirt in a normal size- not three sizes bigger so I can button it.  I would like to be able to run. I would like to be able to workout for more than a month. Heck,  I would like to be able to sit upright for crying out loud.

Everyone I know who has had a reduction has said it's the best thing since seamless underwire.  I'm in.

Please note, I'm not anti-boob by any means.  I support boobs.  I just can't support mine any more.

********************************************************

You may now return to your regular programming.  And please note, that if I catch you staring at my chest the next time I see you, I will slap you silly.  Thank you.